Squeak, squeak…………

Hi,

This post has a short story I wrote about five years back, when I was fifteen.

Squeak Squeak..

by Kaber Vasuki

“Ding Dong” the clock in the living room struck twelve. My mother was on a midnight prowl of the house. It wasn’t normal for my mother to walk around the house in the dead of the night, but tonight was not like all the other nights. Tonight was different. There was a rat in the house.

“Wake up, wake up it is here”. Her voice streaked through out the house stabbing fear in our hearts. There was a soft sound of dirty paws on a dirtier carpet. We all awoke; my father with anxiety got up and started to search for his specs. My grandpa with his scientific approach to every problem, started to bait the rat in a mouse trap with a piece of rotten onion. My grandma started praying for the capture of the elusive rat. My uncle prepared himself, with a broomstick. My aunt had a bucket of water ready to drown the enemy in. My mother had already equipped herself with a dustpan. My sisters and I took high perch on the table. My father had now found his specs in the bath room. “Alright rat, come out!” he said folding his dhoti. The battle was ready to begin. The enemy however was not to be found.

After a few minutes of waiting my father got bored “Where is that rat. There is no rat. It was only you and your false alarms”.

“Oh!” said my mother “If you had placed the mouse-stick under the door, this would never have happened.” (For the information of the reader: The mouse-stick was an ingenious innovation by my grandfather. It consisted of two lengths of thin P.V.C pipe bound together by a large amount of cello tape, which tape I could have used for more practical purposes like mending my torn kite. This was used to block the gap under the main door through which, my imaginative mother had hypothesised that rats entered the house).

“Yes Anna, you are very careless” my uncle added his bit.

“Am I responsible? You misplaced the mouse-stick.” My father was trying to reason.

“Now what about the onion, wouldn’t it draw the rat.” My grandpa was asking himself.

“Om guruvaurappa. All of you stop chattering and search for the mouse” my grandma said. My sisters had already started a game of ‘oh caterpillar’ (which involved chanting an irritating poem and slapping your hands with that of your partner till both were red). Only my aunt and I were searching for the rat. Me, due to the fear that it might climb up the table (you never know do you?). And my aunt due to her sense of duty. Amid all the confusion and my grandpa changing the bait for the fifth time, a soft sound was heard. A small head emerged from under the table. “Squeak”. “The rat! The rat” I shouted. My father, my mother and all the other soldiers of our army started the chase. The chanting of my grandma got louder. My grandpa was congratulating himself for having found the perfect bait. My sisters stopped their chanting to watch the action. The rat ran up and down the room, my father chasing it with his finger pointing at it. Uncle, mother, and aunt were involved in chasing the rat. “Here!” yelled my father “No, no there!” .After what seemed like a few hours, they finally caught it. Finding this as an excuse my sisters started to bellow from the bottom of their stomach “Yea………”. “Drown it!” I shouted trying in vain to outdo their yelling. The rat was brought to the bucket, hanging upside down by the tail from my father’s hand. “Oh what a sin you are committing” said grandma. “Let it go outside”. And thus the rat was saved. We carried it out to the nearby play ground and let it free.

Cheers

Kaber