By Irene Kappes

Jigger thrust his snout through the basement air vent and sniffed the dawn air. The acrid smoke from the previous night’s fireworks had all but disappeared, the remaining traces mingling with the aroma of Chinese cooking from the takeaway above, and with the smell of freshly-baked bagels from the bakery on the corner. Still Jigger was taking no chances. He hated firework night, not because he was particularly afraid of the loud bangs and whizzing noises (although neither did he actually like the damned things) but mainly because of the havoc it seemed to cause amongst his family. His wife was always frantic with worry and, although his last litter had been drawn to the extravagant displays of light, his current three young children clung trembling to the fur on his back. It did not make for a comfortable sleep. He could still feel the imprint of their claws on his skin.

Finally, satisfied that there were no more of the whizz-bang evils (as his oldest son called them) to be heard, he let go of the vent, dropped his front paws to the ground and sought out the crack in the brickwork at the back of the basement room. He wriggled through – it was a pretty tight squeeze, even for a thin rat like himself, but it meant it kept intruders out, which was only a good thing as far as Jigger was concerned. There was a technique to it that you would never be able to work out from the outside, but once you had it mapped out in your head, you could slip in and out with a twist to the left and a jiggle to the right (or reverse order for entering) as long as you breathed out all of the air from your lungs and squeezed your middle in hard. His wife didn’t like using this exit, and always took the long way round, via the hole at the top of the step down the corridor by the back door, but Jigger couldn’t be bothered with that. To be fair, she was a little plumper than him and had got stuck on more than one occasion, once causing him to have to yank her hard by the tail to set her free. It goes without saying she wasn’t best pleased, and she had spent most of the day giving him the evils.

Once out in the open he quickly surveyed the yard with his sharp eyes and sniffed the air. He had never seen a cat in the back yard, but he wasn’t taking any chances. ‘Never be caught out’ was his motto. It was convenient living below a Chinese takeaway; you were never short of food. Sometimes other rats from the neighbourhood tried to come and feast there, but Jigger discouraged it, saying that the owners put rat poison on the food they threw out. It wasn’t a total lie; they did put poison down around the bins, just not on the actual food inside. If you knew where it was placed, and were careful to avoid it, you could eat safely to your heart’s content. All his children had been schooled in recognising rat poison. After all, there had at times been some nasty fatalities amongst the not-so-bright in the community. “And let’s face it”, thought Jigger, “that includes the majority of the rats around here.”

Satisfied that nothing was in the yard, he scuttled over to the bins – speed was of the essence, despite the very slim chances of some human being up at this hour. Careful was his middle name. Well, you really didn’t want to be spotted, or the next thing you knew there’d be pest control all over the place and that would be the end of a nice life for Jigger – which was the main reason he discouraged other rats.

He climbed up the rubbish piled around the bins – cardboard boxes and the like – and shoved his nose into the murk inside. A distinct smell of soy sauce attacked his nostrils. He was used to that, but if you focused on the underlying scents, you could make out the type of meat, vegetables, noodles, rice and other sauces that made up the contents of the bin. Jigger was an expert in sniffing out the favourite meals of his family, tracking them down to particular cartons or tins (or sometimes whole meals tipped straight from the pan) sniffing out their exact whereabouts and excavating them with all the finesse of an archaeologist on a dig. He would collect up his ‘shopping’ on a piece of cardboard, drag it to a safe spot near the back door, and nip indoors to alert his wife to come and collect. Together they would grab the whole stash in next to no time.

After having accomplished the morning shop and eaten his breakfast, time was his own for a couple of hours, while his wife sorted out the kids and tidied up the nest. Sometimes he made his way down to the river, where most of his two previous litters had taken up residence. It was pretty rich pickings down there, given the number of tourists visiting and the consequent overflowing rubbish bins. Some rats liked to indulge in a sip or two of beer left in discarded cans, but Jigger preferred to stay sober at all times. His one vice was to breathe in the smoke from a discarded fire stick that some humans put in their mouths. Somehow, it seemed to relax him and give him a sense of well-being that would set him up for the rest of the day. He didn’t often find them still alight though, which was probably just as well because he didn’t know if it was really a good idea to breathe smoke too often.

This early in the morning the river was empty, apart from the occasional human running along the path. Mostly humans weren’t up until a fair time after dawn, and so the rats pretty much had sole use – apart from foxes, that is. They were a real pest. His grandfather said they didn’t exist years ago. But anyway, they had a good warning system, so it was rare that some rat got caught, apart from the really slow ones.

This particular morning, as he made his way to the river, the sky was grey and there was a chill in the damp air. Winter would be early this year. There was already smoke coming from the chimney of one of the barges that lay berthed along the towpath. An early riser? He’d have to be extra careful. Then he noticed a barge he’d not seen before. “A new arrival, eh? Wonder what it’s got to offer”.

He slipped quickly and quietly down through the bushes onto the gravelly towpath and scuttled along to where the new red and green narrow boat lay. It was a pretty looking boat, one of those that had pots of scarlet flowers on top and brightly-patterned curtains at the little windows. And, could it be? Yes! There was a distinct smell of cheese coming from the stern, where a table and four chairs were parked, presumably for outdoor entertaining. On closer examination, he could see that sure enough, there was a lump of something that looked distinctly like cheese, sitting bang in the middle of the table. Jigger took a good look around and, ascertaining that the coast was clear, did a perfect somersault across the gap from towpath to deck, landing lightly as a ballerina. He checked for sounds of disturbance below decks – not a peep. So far so good. He scampered gaily along the edge of the barge, feeling very pleased with himself, passing the curtained windows as he went and noting the sound of human snoring coming from one of them.

Then he saw it. Just as he reached the rear deck. Sitting, perched on top of the cabin roof, lethal talons grasping the paintwork, huge, curved, yellow beak protruding from its white, feathered head – which was cocked slightly as if in amusement – it stared at him through two emotionless eyes. Jigger froze. The gull had him pinned. His heart pounded and a feeling of queasy dizziness began to overcome him. He breathed hard and forced himself to focus. In a split second he took in his surroundings. Where were the escape routes? Back onto the towpath? No; the gull would pick him off in no time, before he could reach the cover of the bushes. Jigger had no desire whatsoever to come into contact with that razor-sharp beak. He cursed himself for letting the sight of cheese make him break one of his own golden rules; always check your exits before proceeding. Well, if he couldn’t get out he’d have to go further in, risk alerting the occupants and hope they’d think it was the seagull. If he could just find cover enough to hide him from bird and humans. As he was deliberating, the gull began to take short intentional steps towards him. Quick, there must be somewhere. Think!

He saw them in the nick of time. A pair of human boots, the sort they wore to keep the wet off their feet, lodged behind one of the chairs on the foredeck. He made a dash for it, just as the gull stepped off the roof. There was a flap of wings as the bird landed and Jigger made a dash for the chairs. He could feel the pursuit of the gull as much as hear it, and he only just made it under the table and through the legs of two chairs, before the bird landed angrily with a loud squawk and began hopping through the chair legs after him. He dived into one of the black boots that was lying horizontally on the deck. Everything went dark.

Luckily, he was slim enough to turn around inside the boot. This enabled him to not only see out of the top of the boot, but it provided some relief from the awful stench that assaulted his nostrils. Humans were truly smelly creatures.

The gull was motionless once more – working out how to get at him inside the boot no doubt. Birds weren’t as stupid as you might think. Something that size might just try and grab the rubber of the boot and tip him out. He needed to do something to alert the humans. This went completely against the grain, and was not without risk, but he couldn’t see that he had any other options, unless he wanted to stay here until one of them stuck a foot on his head and crushed him.

He began to bait the gull, making ‘come and get me you big stupid numbskull’ noises. When this didn’t work, he tried scratching the inside of the boot and doing a little dance. This only served to make him feel a complete idiot, as the gull looked at him pityingly, with a ‘you’re my next meal’ air about him. There was nothing for it – he’d have to stick his snout out just enough to get a rise from the bird. And he would need to repeat it successfully until the gull got angry enough to make a lot of noise. This was going to be about the most dangerous thing he’d ever attempted.

Jigger said his prayers. “Please don’t let me be got.”

Then he took a deep breath and shoved his snout out of the boot. He withdrew it sharply as the bird pounced. He could feel its beak brush his whiskers. Then he repeated the exercise again. And again. The bird began to hop about in irritation. Jigger made some sneering noises and pushed his snout defiantly out once more; he was actually beginning to enjoy taunting this big bully. The bird attacked the boot. Jigger was knocked off his feet, but recovered sufficiently to give a daring now you see me, now you don’t display. Half a dozen more of these and the bird had had enough; it began hopping up and down and squawking with fury, finally knocking into an empty wine bottle and sending it rolling across the deck to bang against the hatch of the cabin. Jigger withdrew in the nick of time as the hatch was opened. A human head of dishevelled, short, brown hair appeared and, blinking its eyes in the light, took in the scene. A voice from below gave the intonation of a question, and the male human responded briefly.

And at the same time, something wonderful happened. The human rose from the hatch entrance, stretched out its arm, grabbed a bucket and, with all its might, threw the complete contents of cold water over the gull as it took to the air in the direction of the front of the barge, screeching loudly. The man mounted the roof and ran after the bird, gesturing wildly and waving the bucket.

Jigger saw his chance. Faster than he’d ever moved in his life, he exited the boot, scaled the leg of a chair, sprung onto the table, seized the cheese in his mouth, dropped down onto another chair, scaled the back and made a short leap onto the side of the boat – where he took just a moment to steady himself because the boat was rocking somewhat – and, with perfect timing, propelled himself onto the towpath. He ran for his life for cover of the bushes, as the man turned back towards the stern of the barge. When he reached the bushes he collapsed in a trembling, sweating heap. His heart was pounding so loudly he couldn’t hear anything else at all. Then, as it began to subside and slow to just a normal level of pounding from fear, he heard another sound. At first he couldn’t work out what it was, but it sounded familiar. Then he realised it was the sound of his own laughter. And he lay in the bushes laughing his head off until the sound of a human running past alerted him that it was time to get home before he got into more trouble. He picked up the cheese again, and set off, carefully navigating his way back to home and safety.

Lunch was a splendid affair in the basement of the Chinese takeaway that day. His children listened with awe as he recounted the story of his adventure (with a few choice embellishments of course). His wife was not so impressed.

“What happened to ‘never be caught out’?” she asked when the children were curled up asleep.

“I know, it was stupid really, and I won’t take chances again. You did enjoy the cheese though, didn’t you?” he added, mischievously.

She smiled resignedly, as one who knows that it is hopeless to protest further, and snuggled closer to him.

“Don’t make your children fatherless, that’s all.”

“I won’t,” he promised as he closed his eyes. And then, with a twinkle in his eye, “not these three or the next lot.”

And then he fell into a deep, contented sleep.

© Irene Kappes, 2020. All rights reserved