Fairy Rat Mothers and Assorted Strange Stuff

Fairy Rat Mothers and Assorted Strange Stuff

The boys finally met their Fairy Rat Mother Beffy this summer. She came back from her mission trip to India and came over to schmooze with the wee fellows. They aren't so wee any more.

Helloooo; I'm your Aunt Beffy!

      One of our friends always refers to our male adoramites as 'Beavers' because of their size. Other male friends become insecure when they note the size and proportion of the tackle carted about by boy ratties. They are mucho macho men for certain.

These macho dudes are now fully grown and their personalities have become more pronounced. Mortimer is shy and likes to sit quietly in the lap while being gently stroked and massaged. He grinds his teeth and boggles his eyes in happiness and his little body almost quivers with pleasure. In spite of being the shy one around people, he is definitely the top dog (sic) in the mousehouse. 

Do I know you?

Kneel before your emperor.

 Raoul, in spite of his larger size is second in command to Mortimer. Raoul is NOT the slightest bit shy and is afraid of nothing to the point that we watch him very carefully. He could take it into his fevered ratty brain to make a flying leap off of the play table and straight into the unknown.

I wonder where this goes?

He is also known as 'the stomach' because he will eat anything and lots of it. Mortimer is more discerning and likes to thoroughly investigate any new food. Of course this means we have to feed them separately otherwise Raoul will snarf his food down then sidle over to sample his brother's meal. Mort will leave and let him have at it. For awhile I worried about Mort and whether or not he was gaining weight until I witnessed the day Mort decided he wanted his dinner and kept hip-checking Raoul out of the way.

Hmmm, tastes like chicken.

Today they got a nice visit from Katie who happens to be a sister of their Aunt Beffy. She wanted to come and give them some love before she leaves for her third year of university. These girls are such a sunny spot in my world. 

Katie and admirer

 They have a gorgeous sister Chrissy too who will be home for one more school year before she enters the big bad world out there.

Chrissy is dancing, or acting, or looking innocent.

In the meantime, I will hold down the adoramite station and keep ratty central open for business!

After all, Fairy Rat Mothers, and Kate-O's, and Crunchies all have to come back some time or another and there must be adoramites.  Oh yes, there must.

PNYAAARK!

That is the sound my mind makes when somebody who richly deserves it gets their comeuppance. I don't want to delve too deeply into the swamp of schadenfreude, but I do have a small jolt of 'haHAA' that shoots through my head. That my friends is “pnyaaark”, pronounced with the accent on the second syllable and with a nasally inflection. Sometimes I say it out loud.

Give it a go. Ready? One and a two and a three:

Pnyaaaaaaaarrk

If you don't think it sounded quite right, hold your nose next time and pretend you are talking through a snort.

Now that we have the pronunciation down let us turn to using the word in its proper context.

For instance:

• 

  Have a nice day!

  You are doing the speed limit on your way to work in the morning. A teddibly impawtant person pulls out from behind you and passes while honking leaving you in his superior dust. You fume a bit but figure there is no point in letting an idiot ruin your day. A few blocks later you notice that he and his Beamer have been the lucky contestants in a speed trap game, and the cop is now writing him out his prize ticket. You let a 'pnyaaark' spout and you wriggle a tiny bit with illicit joy.
  
• At a meeting, the unit piggy reaches into the doughnut box to snag the last chocolate dip, knowing that you have not yet had a doughnut and that choccydip is your favourite. The boss whaps his wrist and says “For crying out loud Travis, you have just downed three of these things. Leave some for the rest of us”. “Pnyaaaark” you say, but only in your mind because you don't want to be thought of as nasty. You are, but you certainly don't want to advertise it. You look around and ask if anyone else wants the choccydip. They say 'no', and you sit and eat it slooooowly with every indication of bliss, pnyaaarking away in your head.
• Your neighbour bleats on and on and on and on about her perfect kid who can do anything wonderfully and who is destined to be the next face on Mount Rushmore and he isn't even American. He gets busted for cocaine trafficking. “Pnyaaaaaaaaaaaaark”!

I'm not saying this is a particularly stellar part of the human condition, but human it is. I pray a lot about it. However, the positive spin is that “pnyaaark” keeps me from saying and thinking much worse, and from calling curses down upon the annoying ones in life.

To “pnyaaark” or not to “pnyaaark”. That is the question. My answer is – sure! Go for it.

I hate clowns.  Pnyaaark!