The Origin of the Mystery Rat 5,000

Thomas Ratstein, thief, becomes a Super Hero. NOTE: These are two short stories in a series I sometimes add to about a common rodent becoming a super hero.

NOTE: These are two short stories in a series I sometimes add to about a common rodent becoming a super hero.  
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Thomas Ratstein slunk around the corner of a broken-down mud-brick building in ancient Jerusalem. Scurrying under a pile of trash, he peered carefully around a discarded pizza box. The alley seemed empty, so the rodent ran toward the other end, dodging garbage, trash, and a drunken human.

"Whooops," he yelped, skidding to a halt and retracing his steps. He was in a hurry but couldn't resist the drunk. Sometimes they had gold or a copper coin on them. This one, he noticed, was dressed in a clean robe. One not too tattered except where a knife stuck through it about chest-high. A glint near his feet showed Thomas a sprinkling of shiny stones. He had never seen any that close before, but they looked like diamonds to him.

"Hoo, boy. Whoever shived this fool wasn't very neat," he told himself, hurriedly filling a leather belly-pouch with the stones. Hitching up his robes, the rat hurried out of the alley and on to complete his business. Thomas was to meet his girlfriend, Alice Aardvark, at the Rat Emporium for a performance of "Dante's Inferno" -- said to be a hot performance.

*** 

"It's about time, you little rat," Alice met him with paws braced on ample hips. She was kinda chubby, even for an aardvark. Although Thomas preferred rat or skunk women, beggars couldn't be choosers. 

And that was his occupation. Thomas paid good money for a begging post inside the entrance to a local Jewish Temple. It was a good spot, right at the foot of a human moneylender. The customers were happy to get a loan and often dropped a few coppers to a begging rat. Then they'd go inside to thank their human God. 

It was a funny system to Thomas Ratstein. He wondered why they didn't simply ask directly for help, like he did with his God. Why go to the Temple to do it?

"Sorry, honey," he told Alice. "Let's us go on in and watch the show."

"And one of these days you're gonna pay the entrance fee," she complained while plopping a couple of copper coins down for tickets. 

"I don't have anything that small." Thomas led the way to seats in back of the theater, where they could make-out during intermissions.

"I wouldn't count on that, lover. I can think of one thing about you that's pretty darned small."

"No. I mean cash, Alice honey. I converted my riches to diamonds," he told her after they sat down. "Here's my share, and keep the change." He handed her one of the shiny stones.

"Oh! My God, Thomas," Alice exclaimed, holding it up to dim candlelight. She couldn't believe it. "And I thought you were kidding about being a rich rodent."

Well, he considered, beggars can't be choosers -- but they can be liars. Thomas grinned as he sat back to watch the show. It consisted of naked rodents dancing around on the stage while waving lit matches at each other and setting fire to settings. Thomas wasn't paying much attention, though, planning on all the goodies he was going to buy the next day with his windfall.

***

Thomas didn't get very far the next morning. He went to the temple, not to work as usual but to sell a few diamonds. The rat noticed Roman soldiers standing around inside, which was unusual. They didn't usually enter the Jewish Temple. The rat briefly wondered if they were all converting or something?

Bypassing his normal leased begging cubicle, he went behind the counter next door to pull on the robes of his neighbor, Joseph the Honest -- a money-changer.

"Hey, Joe. I got something for you, old buddy. How much you give me for these?" 

A human hand came down. When Thomas put a couple of his diamonds in it, the appendage lifted out of sight. Thomas sat back on his haunches and waited for an answer.

"Hey, hurry up there, Joe. I ain't got all day, buddy." An anxious Thomas Ratstein pulled at Joseph's robes. It was taking far too long to make an offer, the rat thought. 

Eventually, a human hand came back down. It opened, palm upward, so Thomas jumped on and was slowly raised to the table top. Slowly, that is, until he reached the top edge. Then the rat found himself jerked upwards and dumped into a cage.

"What the hell! What's going on here? You arrest me. In your God's house, yet. And what the hell for?" 

Joseph the Honest looked away as though he had nothing to do with it, while a Roman soldier picked up Thomas and his cage and carried the protesting rat to the slammer.

"Hey, those are mine, my life savings," the frightened rodent protested as they searched him and took away the diamonds.

"These rare Polynesian stones were stolen yesterday, rat." One of the soldiers tweaked Thomas's whiskers as he informed the rodent. "You shouldn't leave bodies lying in alleys like that. How'd you kill him? You must have had a human accomplice. You're too small to carry that large a knife."

"I don't know what you're talking about, pig."

"You'll tell us, sooner or later. Judge Maximus is a rough character. He'll get you to talk." The soldier turned to a companion and instructed, "Throw him in with that religious guy we picked up for conning people."

Thomas, cage and all, was taken to a human cell and placed inside. He saw a few nasty-looking humans crouching in the corners and watching as the guard left.

"O'boy," one of them called out, "rat legs for dinner. I get first choice." He came over to the cage and fiddled with the lock. A rather simple one, it gave easily and a hand was thrust inside.

"Leave that rat alone," a voice came from another corner. "It's one of my father's creatures and deserves your respect."

"I don't need no help, a*****e," Thomas replied. He was used to living in the gutter and could handle those simple-minded characters. With a quick motion, he jumped up and grabbed a human nose, biting down and holding on.

"Yeeeehhh," the man screamed, backing up. Planting both feet on the guy's chin, Thomas twisted his head, causing the human to fall on his butt. Letting go, Thomas stood on hind-legs and glared at the other humans. "Who's next?" 

There were no takers. They looked at their bleeding friend and shook their heads.

When Thomas took a couple of steps toward one of them, the man backed away, frightened of the wild rat. "Boo." Thomas smiled as he watched the human quake. 

He turned his attention to the one that sounded like a preacher. Thomas had heard a lot of those idiots talking at the Temple, acting holier than thou. Now, pissed off, he strode over to the guy.

The human was sitting in a corner, sandaled feet spread out and smiling. The grin made Thomas even angrier. That damned holy attitude again, he thought, simmering.

"Bless you, my little man--." The guy in a dirty-white robe started to say. That was when Thomas bit him on the right big-toe.

The man kicked out and the rat found himself flying up into the air. But he didn't drop, simply hanging there. Thomas looked down and saw the floor far below, but he remained in place, kicking all four skinny legs in panic. Then the worried rat drifted closer to the stranger's face, stopping a few inches from it.

The man's eyes seemed to bore into the rat's brain, as though they could read his thoughts.

"You bit the Son of God," the man informed Thomas in a loud voice, "and you must be punished for the transgression."

"You ain't my God, buddy." Thomas looked up at the ceiling and called out, "Supreme Rat. I need you now, more than ever before. Help me ... please."

There was a crack of lightning and the Supreme Rat looked down on him, asking Jesus what had happened that he was screwing with one of HIS subjects. In those olden days, gods often walked on the Earth among its lowly dwellers, so Thomas thought nothing odd about the conversation.

The two gods spoke in a language that Thomas didn't understand, finally smiling at each other as though coming to a decision.

"Thomas Ratstein," the Supreme Rat told the quivering rodent, "you have done evil. Besides, us gods gotta keep together. We have decided to punish you by making you immortal. You will have eternity to contemplate your violent actions. You do not bite the toes of a god." The Supreme rat sneezed loudly. "Damn. It's cold down in these dungeons." 

"Bless you, SR. Let me finish. I'm the one he bit." Jesus turned to Thomas and continued, "Like he said, you will live forever, or at least until you atone for your sins."

"So? Don't seem so bad to me." Thomas tried to regain his composure.

"Ha. Wait a few hundred years, rat. You have to live among humans for eternity, or until they kill themselves off. It won't drive you crazy. You'll just wish it would." Jesus paused. "But we can be forgiving. If you can prove you've changed, and we'll check every few hundred years, we'll let you die.

"And I'll give you certain powers. Not to help you as much as to make it more interesting for us gods. Remember, rat, you have to spend your time helping others, even humans. You get special points for humans." He turned away, then snapped his attention back to Thomas and continued, " Oh, and I'm gonna die in a few days. Leave that part alone. It's all planned out already."

Thomas found himself drifting back to the floor. Trying to put up a brave front, he forced his legs to stop shaking, staring back up at the gods.

"Now, since you can walk through these bars, you better get the hell out of here," Jesus commanded, rubbing his sore toe. "And right now, before I change my mind about making you into a rat casserole with goat cheese."

Thomas figured it would be the best thing he could do at the moment, so he ran like hell. He was so frightened and ran so fast that it wasn't until later that he noticed something. He had run right through the walls of the jail, not even breaking anything.

Later, Thomas found he’d acquired all sorts of powers. They were too many to count, and he was learning more every day. During the following centuries, Thomas Ratstein learned so much about life, both rodent and human, that he became something like a god himself, only with more humility. 

He stopped calling himself by name, and was known only as the "Mystery Rat," a champion of truth, fighting evil and human stupidity across the universe. 

A true story out of the ancient and venerable Rat Archives (a repository of rat history since before humans dropped out of trees and were too stupid to climb back up.)
===========
 The Door To Nowhere
A mystery rat story.

High up on the thirtieth floor of a certain skyscraper, in the offices of Scears Department Stores Inc. Photography Department, Advertising Division, an angry model had just thrown a clothing catalog against an outside window. Thankfully, the window was of shatter-resistant glass. Otherwise someone might have been killed below.

"I demand, absolutely demand you take that photo out," she screamed. "When I posed for that photo, nobody told me the coat was made out of rodent fur. There goes my reputation. One of the other girls told me about it, showing me the picture. The others were laughing. Out. Out, I say."

"But Debra, you should be flattered that we picked you for the promotion. It's a new product. It was Mr. Meadows himself who realized that there are thousands of rodents killed every week in this city alone, the carcasses thrown away with perfectly good fur on them. With the cost of other creatures rising and environmentalists complaining, not to mention lawsuits, it only makes sense to use the fur. After all, nobody defends those small pests."

"I don't give a, give a rat's a*s. I don't want to go down in history as the Rat Girl. That's what I'm already being called in the wardrobe department -- the Rat Girl. Take it out, right now, or I quit."

He sighed, walking over to slide an arm around her shoulders. "We can't. There are already a million of them printed. Do you know how much it would cost to recall them and print others?"

"Not as much as my lawsuit."

Debra Ratters spat out a few choice invectives, spun around on six-inch heels and stormed out of the office, back to her reserved dressing room down on the twentieth floor. When the telephone rang, she almost didn't pick it up, having planned on smashing it next, after she finished with the mirror.

Picking up last year's trophy as "most up-and-coming-model", she weighed it in her palm, eyes judging the best azimuth for a twenty-foot toss at the mirror. Changing her mind about the trophy because it might be chipped, she picked up an ashtray instead. That action necessitated another mental calculation, due to changes in weight and air resistance.

All that time, she'd been listening to the steady ringing of the phone. Screw it. She picked up the telephone in her other hand. "What the frickin' hell you want?"
"Miss Ratters. Beautiful lovely eminently desirable Miss Ratters. Please, dear lady, hear me out."

A sucker for compliments, Debra did hear him out. "Go ahead. You got thirty seconds before I smash this frickin' phone."

"Sumptuous Miss Ratters. I have a job offer for you. After reading a recent article in a trade zine, I knew I must have you. No one else comes close to your lusciousness ... your pure sexuality. Not your reputation in wearing furs or your image in selling them. I run a company that specializes in furs, and need you ... desperately." 

"And why should I? Right now, I'm on a $300,000 retainer for only the fall and winter lines. The rest of the time I get to lie around the house. Why should I quit this deal?" Debra was used to such calls, and turning them down.

"How about for a cool mil, under the same terms?"

She thought about the catalog and how she might lose a lawsuit ... and the million was tempting.

"Let's meet, and talk it over," she answered.

The voice gave her an address, only a few blocks away.

"I'll be there in a half-hour," Debra said. "Have the contract ready for me to take to my lawyer."

At the time, Debra Ratter was sitting on top of the world, one of its most famous models. Especially since her romance, marriage, and divorce from Rock Bluskin, a famous actor. Not only did she have a great reputation, but facial recognition. She was said to have that indefinable sophisticated look and bearing that said, "quality." Debra was also one of the greatest and most well known b*****s in the industry, a reputation she well deserved and cherished.

*** 

Debra Ratters cursed as she slid on her butt across a sidewalk in Chicago. "Damn high-heels in winter," she screamed into the wind while looking upward. The timing was lousy, as a current picked that exact time to blow a flurry of snow directly into her uncovered face. 

Debra bounced backward, high heels slipping on the sidewalk to a landing on her butt … again. Shaking her head, she grabbed a slick wall, falling back to concrete.
Growling to herself and the world, she managed to regain her footing. Frickin' snow.

Spitting dirty big-city snow, she lowered her head and trudged on. She was almost at her destination. Debra was still pissed because the only parking lot within three blocks charged her twenty bucks for an open parking space on the top floor rear. She just knew her car would be snowed in there, growing icy roots around its tires by the time she returned. 

Eagerly shoving her way through an icy revolving door in a high-rise office building, the young lady was relieved to stand in a large warm lobby. Taking time to brush off as much snow as she could, she opened her coat, letting warm air flow around a perfect body. The hood had, thank God, protected her hair, although her face was cold and wet. Her nose burned in the heat, but that would go away, she knew, if the nose didn't crack off first. No nose at all would probably, she figured, cause her to lose this modeling gig. Noseless models were not exactly in demand in the industry.

Going over to an index board between two elevators, she looked for her prospective employer's name, finding it listed in the basement. That didn't bode well, she thought. Those were usually the cheapest rents, without windows.

She found it, a door behind the furnace. There was even, for god's sake, a hand-printed sign above the door saying "Nowhere Industries." The door to Nowhere?
Well, she thought, I should turn around, but I am here already. Knocking did no good, so she shrugged and turned the knob.

The inside décor was strange. Although there were a few decent chairs, many more of them looked like they were designed for dolls, each with a hole centered in the bottom sections of the backs. Debra had a brief thought of Alice in Wonderland.

Nobody sat at the receptionist's desk, so Debra walked over to an interior door. She could hear a voice from inside. It was a man's voice, loud and abrasive. Squaring her shoulders and forcing a smile, the woman turned the knob and stepped inside.

She almost fainted, having to hold onto the doorway. A large rat stood on the desk, a lit cigar in its mouth, cursing into a cellphone. When he, it, turned, she saw he had one red and one green eye.

"Now, I told you, Morris. Yes. Wednesday at the latest, you jerk. Yeah, and your mother sucks lemons, too." He gave a raucous laugh, flicking an ash into an ashtray almost as large as himself. Giggling, the rodent turned, seeing Debra. He put down the phone.

"And what can I do for you, my lady? I don't get many humans in here."

"Uh ... was it you that invited me here? Ab ... About a job? I'm Debra Ratters."

"You are?" Both hands went to his muzzle. "Oh! My dear, my dear. I've made a terrible mistake. The magazine article didn't say you were human and with a name like Ratters, I thought you were ... were a rat. You see? A dreadful mistake, dear girl. Simply devastating. 

Seeming to regain his composure, the rat advanced across the desk, holding out a hand. Feeling more than a little foolish, Debra shook hands. After all, she was a fool for compliments.

"Please have a seat, yes a seat, and I'll gladly write you a check for your time and trouble, my dear. After all, it was entirely my fault."

As Debra turned to sit in a stuffed chair, she saw the customary publicity photos, row after row of them, covering one wall. There was what looked like the same rat shaking hands with a multitude of famous men, even the current President. He was portrayed talking to and even kissing famous women, including the Queen of England. One entire row was of him with sports heroes, another of movie stars. 

This, Debra thought, is one well-connected rodent. How come I never heard of him? And I subscribe to People Magazine. But, then, he isn't really a "people," now, is he?

"Would a thousand salve your wounds, you beautiful hunk of feminine humanity?"
 
"Well, uh, sir. Well ... this may seem strange, but I'd rather have the job?" Debra was thinking that working for this rodent might well help her career. That with all the famous people he knew, being around him might get her a multitude of introductions into upper-class society.

"Jeez, my lovely. You ... well, you put me in a spot. Of course I can't use you as a model, you must realize. Although the epitome of pulchritudinous perfection to a human male, you won't turn on many rodents. 

"But, but I can use someone with your modeling experience ... as a trainer. The art is basically the same for all races and species, except for roaches and aardvarks, of course. The first aren't socially conscious, and the second too clumsy to realize they're clumsy. And, unfortunately, it pays much less. But then, it's a night job, only a few hours a night, and you can no doubt keep your other position."

Debra began having doubts.

"I can only pay what you're getting on your other job, 300 thou? And you'll have to go with me on various social occasions." He sighed. "I know it's not fair, but there are some places where a rat can't get in without a human escort, such as country clubs and movie openings."

Visions of meeting famous people again filled her nimble mind. Thoughts of shaking hands with Presidents in the White House and kissing movie actors, even her snapshot on the front cover of "Time" magazine.   

"I'll take it, Mr. Rat. I'll take the job." She hurried to get the words out fast, before he could change his mind.

"Excellent, Miss Ratters." He grinned, reaching down to kiss a hand resting on the desk. "Can you start at six, tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'll be there." Damn, but she'd almost kissed a rat. He explained that he had many commitments and might not be in, but gave Debra a key to the office.

"You'll only have four or five models to instruct, for now. I'll be hiring more later, after I meet the Warmer Brothers Studio's rep, but that's it for the moment. Since I know nothing about modeling, dear lady, you'll have to use your judgment on the training.

*** 

The next day, Debra's mind wasn't on her own modeling. Her first session was with underwear, the room filled with women and their spouses or boyfriends. After the MC, Mrs. Jenson, announced the next session was to be fur coats, most of the men drifted out for a smoke and free drink outside.

Debra was thinking only about herself being a trainer, in charge of her own girls. That she was moving up in the world. Already, she'd forgotten that her new boss was a rodent. 

She was, of course, unaware of her boss being the Mystery Rat, and that him and the Supreme Rat were watching from heaven. They, Jesus, and Gautama ( the Buddha ) were watching and drinking beer. Gods are jokers, and those four were no exception.

They laughed and enjoyed her spate with Mr. Meadows, and how she'd haughtily shoved two new girls away, into walls, while storming out of his office.  

After work, Debra hurried to the Door To Nowhere office. As foretold, her employer wasn't in.  Debra sat at his desk and leafed through a couple of advertising catalogs. Instead of humans, they featured animals wearing human-style clothing.

That surprised her, since she'd never before seen mice portrayed wearing frilly panties and multi-cup bras before. She thought one great dane looked silly in a blue-tinged nightie. A male hippo in a jockstrap was simply gross to her sensibilities. A mink modeling a fur coat seemed stupid. 

Since they seemed so crazy, and there were a large stack of them, she slipped one of the smaller catalogs into her purse to show her other boss.

A flurry of activity in a corner caught Debra's attention. A small door had opened at the base of one wall. Two small furry heads could be seen. 

"Oh! Sorry. I thought this was Nowhere Industries," one of them sort of squeaked.
"It is. Come on in. You must be a ... a model? I'm your instructor."

"Goodie, goodie," the mouse said, coming in, two more and a rat following in her wake.

At the same time, the large human door shuddered as someone knocked.

"Just a moment, girls," Debra said, nervously walking over to see who it was. A neatly groomed donkey strode past her, not even acknowledging her presence. It clomped to the center of the room, head raised proudly, legs and back straight.

"Where's that damned rat that promised me a job?" it brayed loudly.

"Uh, he's not here right now ... Miss."

"Ms, not Miss. And I'm the star of my high school modeling class, of the prestigious Equestrian High. Who the hell are you?" She sneered, looking down her muzzle at Debra.

"I ... I'm your instructor, MISS." Debra sneered back. No other b***h could beat her at THAT game. "You will follow MY instructions if you wish to study here."

"If I WISH? It's you who should feel honored."

Debra was taken aback. She was normally the one with that attitude. She stood on tip-toes, staring into the donkey's large liquid eyeballs. Grabbing a floppy ear, she leaned close.

"You frickin' a*****e. You mess with me, and I'll slam a boot up your butt," she whispered hoarsely. 

The donkey glared briefly, shook her head, and hoofed over against a wall. Back end toward Debra, it emitted a loud fart. Through a cloud of stink, Debra could see one eye looking back at her with a sneer.

Debra regained control by trying to fulfill her threat, a pointed toe hitting a bullseye between wide equestrian cheeks. "Enough of that, young ... young lady."

Bending over and lifting the mice and rat onto the desk, she gave all of them a brief lecture on modeling. The mice were jumping up and down in anticipation, asking many questions. The rat, named Alice, seemed very shy. The donkey kept looking at the ceiling and yawning as though not interested. She gave the impression that she knew all that small stuff.

"Now," Debra finally asked, "I want to see what you can do. You meeses walk across the desk. Pretend you're strolling down the runway with a crowd of potential buyers watching your every move. Mildred, you go first."

Mildred Mouse strode across the polished surface as though on the way to see her boyfriend.

"Oh, no. Dear. Try to glide. That's it. Good, though we'll have to work on it a bit."

The other mice did as well, probably from watching films on the subject. But the rat, Alice, tip-toed shyly, giving the impression of walking on eggs. The donkey brayed with humor at Alice's attempt, causing Debra to blush.

The donkey, though too large for the office, wasn't bad at all. She did seem to have innate skill, but Debra couldn't bring herself to compliment the a*s.

"Decent," she said, bringing a quick response from the donkey.

"Decent hell, dearie. I'm the best, and we BOTH know it."

"Decent is all. You have to lose that attitude if you want to make it in this racket."

"Ha. Says you, Ratters. I know about you. In fact, I studied you and your lifestyle. If someone like you can make it, being such a b***h, a beautiful girl like me has to rise to the top."

The outburst took Debra by surprise. For the first time in her life, she saw herself as both herself and as a donkey. She broke down in tears. Through dampened eyes, she threw her arms around the donkey's neck, at a loss for words….

***  

Debra woke, lying on a cold icy sidewalk, two other pedestrians helping her to her feet. To her surprise, she actually thanked them. They even helped her to her destination. 

Debra stood again at the index board between elevators, looking for the "Nowhere Industries" entry. When she didn't find it in the listing, she hurried down to the basement. The door itself was there, but no sign above it.

Opening the door, she found a small utility closet -- no suite at all. It must have all been a dream, she thought, turning and going home … to think over a glass of fine wine.

***

The next day, at work, the first person she ran into was Mr. Meadows. Debra opened her mouth, an insult on her tongue, ready to throw it across at him. Then, her mind formed a mental picture of a certain donkey, and abruptly reconsidered. To her surprise, she was tired of being an a*s.

"Good morning, Mr. Meadows. It's a wonderful day, isn't it?" she asked, actually smiling.

Her boss, rearing back in surprise, returned the smile, saying, "I hope so, Miss Ratter. I surely hope so."

Seated in her dressing room, Debra, equally surprised at that greeting, reached into her purse for a cigarette. She fished around, pulling out a small catalog, one showing small rodents modeling human-style underwear.

***

Up in heaven, the Supreme Rat patted the Mystery Rat on the back. He'd come through once again.

The End.  By Oscar Rat, the famous and humble rat writer.

Author's Note

Please, some sort of response.