I Am NOT A Rat

I wish to make this perfectly clear because it would greatly upset me if I had to repeat the information: Both my parents were mice, so I am a mouse.

I clearly recall my first day of school. Mother and Father wished me luck and hugged me goodbye. I was excited to have the chance to meet other children my age.

"May I join your game?" I asked a group of boys playing tag before class began.

"Not a chance!" one answered. "You're a rat!"

"No, I'm not!" I protested. "I'm a mouse like you. I'm just tall."

"You're no mouse! Go away, you ugly rat!"

It was the same with everyone I met. I was the social outcast. No one sat beside me in class or played with me during breaks. I sat down under a tree by myself and sighed.

"Need some company?" A boy sat beside me.

"Aren't you going to insult me and call me a rat?" I asked.

"You haven't done anything to bother me. Why would I cause problems for you?"

"That sounds logical."

"Want to play chess?"

"I don't know how," I replied. "Is it hard?"

"Actually, it's elementary! I can teach you if you want," he offered.

"What does 'elementary' mean?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It's just something that Holmes says a lot, and I want to be just like him."

"Who?"

My new friend gasped. "You've never heard of Sherlock Holmes? He's the greatest detective ever!"

"Is he a mouse too?"

"He's actually a human."

While my friend told me stories about his hero, he also instructed me in playing chess.

He pointed to the pieces on the board. "You can't treat all your men like they're pawns, or it will be easy for me to capture them." He frowned slightly. "I see you are trying to kill my queen."

I moved one of my pieces. "Let's see you get out of this trap."

He studied the chessboard for several minutes. "Aha! Here is a way to save my queen's life and put you in check!"

"Pretty fierce battle we have going here!" I remarked. "Checkmate."

"On the contrary! The game's not over yet!"

The game ended in a tie. Both of us complimented each other.

"You learn fast!" he exclaimed. "Not bad for your first time playing the game!"

"Well, you're a good teacher," I replied.

It wasn't until I returned home from school that afternoon that I realized my friend and I had forgotten to ask each other's names. Having a friend was so wonderful that I almost forgot about everyone calling me a rat; however, I received a painful reminder the next day.

One boy was telling his group of playmates, "Do you see the rat over there? He's too stupid to realize that he was adopted by mouse parents because his biological family wanted to get rid of him. Baby rats are so ugly that even their own mothers don't love them. Rats are so savage that they're incapable of emotions. No one wants to be friends with them, not even other rats."

That hurt. I'd never considered the possibility that I was adopted. Surely it couldn't be true that I was unwanted and unloved!

My friend from the previous day stood up for me. "You should be kind to rats! They're smarter than mice, and one day, you'll probably have a rat for a boss!"

"Oh, look! It's the detective!" one boy jeered. "We'd better be careful before he has us arrested."

"By commenting that I'll have you arrested, you admit your own guilt. If you were good citizens, you'd have nothing to fear!" my friend retorted.

I admired his sharp wit and his resolve not to let anyone's harsh comments make him lose his composure. Furthermore, I was deeply moved that he would stick up for me when we barely knew each other. I knew then that I had a true friend, the kind everyone prays to find.

He turned to me. "I don't associate with ruffians. Let's find something better to do."

We walked away from the mob, and he told me more about Holmes. That day's story involved Professor James Moriarty. I never considered myself easily impressed, especially not by humans, but Moriarty sounded amazing. He seemed like the type of guy who would never allow himself to be tormented by others.

"Holmes is going to bring him to justice someday!" my friend concluded. "Just wait!"

I thanked him for the story, but when I got home, I asked my parents about more important matters.

"Am I adopted?" I queried. "Everyone at school thinks I'm a rat, and I'm already as tall as you are, even though you're adults and I'm still a child."

Mother put her hand to her heart. "Padraic." She embraced me. "True greatness is measured by the stature of one's heart, not physical appearance." She kissed the top of my head.

Father placed a hand on my shoulder. "There's no shame in being adopted. It means you are loved twice as much as others. Your biological family loved you enough to make sure you would get the life you deserved, and your adopted family loved you enough to invite you into their lives."

"So I am adopted?" I asked to clarify.

"Your biological mother was a widow," Mother began. "You were her only child, and when you were just a baby, a cat attacked you. Your mother fought hard and won your life, but she lost her own. As soon as she realized she would not be much longer in this world, she asked a passing stranger to take you to the orphanage so you would be safe, raised in a loving home with a caring family, without fear of the cat."

"Did the stranger do it?" I inquired.

"No." Mother smoothed back my hair. "I was the stranger she begged to help her infant. When I saw your bright eyes and heard your gentle cooing, I knew Heaven had sent me the child I feared I would never have. You seized my heart when you wrapped your chubby hand around my fingers, and when I kissed you for the first time, you smiled at me."

"You both are mice, but I'm adopted. Am I a rat?"

Father took my hand. "It is our personality, not our species, that determines who we are."