Between the Lions

This PBS children’s program I watch with about as much enjoyment as “normal” people watch soap operas or the super bowl. What makes it especially special is the fact I get to see it only when I take time off from work. The 5 PM broadcast time coincides with my battle though traffic on the way home.

America disappoints me in the fact it does all the right things for all the wrong reasons. Educational television is perhaps the only example where this country has gotten its heart and mind in the same spot. This media is enjoyed though largely denigrated as being juvenile, all the while in a culture devoted to youth worship. Perhaps this prejustice has been its saving grace, for this is one medium where raw creativity isn’t necessarily bound to the dark powers of market forces. Hence, the product is often completely original.

The web site indicated this installment was devoted to an Irish folk tale about how all the rats were driven from Ireland – but then came back. An initial insult was eventually overcome by the rats reaffirmation of their own pride. Me thinks this speaks of the Irish sprit as well. The WEB site featured a lot of other stories and games, but no feedback. So, in impotent omnipotence, I offer the following:


Some people have dogs. Some have cats. Most have dandruff, broken dreams and creditors.

I have rats.

They quietly go about their business after the evening news wraps me in its foreboding gloom, amongst which the rats reaffirm the notion that the meek shall inherit the earth.

Content to bustle about on the perimeter of the glow my TV casts, they beg unseen for the crumbs I decently toss into the darkness as I expire amongst them in a drunken stupor. Emboldened, the dance merrily across my chest but ever mindful least their young nip a slumbering giant from its evening oblivion.

-and then, one night …

As the world went to hell and my cup went dry I chanced to see a denizen of the darkness slip into the dim phosphorescence.

“Good evening, sir”

It said in a calm and calculating voice.

Not caring if this apparition were the result of too much wine or too little sleep, I greeted the small pensive figure looming out of the darkness. Was I awake, asleep – or dead, perhaps?

“Have you come to gnaw my bones?”, I asked.

“Heavens, no”, the rat replied.

“The maggots will have to lick them clean before we show any interest in them.”

“Oh, but what a bonanza they will be”, I surmised, “I must be the size of a whale as far as you are concerned. I expect I ought to sustain at least an entire generation of rats.”

“That you will, sir”, the rat replied, “and know that we are grateful to you”. “Your bones will become the bones of our children.”

“One part of me will remain however”, I stated, “my teeth”.

“That they will”, the rat replied, “they are too hard even for a rat to gnaw; however, behold their fate..”

Saying this, the rat hopped upon my chest where I could see a gold crowned molar adorning the top of its head.

“Know you that I am rat royalty and this gold tooth is my crown. Human teeth are prized heirlooms to all rats and the most precious are silver and gold teeth.”

Saying this, the rat licked the end of my nose affectionately and dashed off into the darkness. Oblivion soon descended upon me like the late evening rain, and another rehearsal had begun for the time I slipped into sleep for the last time.

The room was still except for the painful buzz of a fly caught in some forgotten cobweb.