Page 13 of Grumpy Puck

“See?”I point at the gator.“That is one of a million reasons why you guys are better off living indoors.”

Wolfgang chirps.

Meine Liebe, the main reason to live indoors is not safety.It’s because that is where the manna from heaven, also known as cheese, resides.

Lenin grinds his teeth particularly loudly.

If religion is the opium of the humans, cheese is that for the proletari-rat.

“We finally have room for a TV,” I tell everyone.Until now, we’ve been watching movies and shows on the tiny screen of my laptop.

The rats do not seem all that enthused about the prospect of TV, but I sure am.

Now, where will I put it?

I look around and realize that something about the living room is different today compared to the way it was when I first checked it out.There are smudges on the walls, and a few floorboards look like they’ve been pulled up and then placed back.

How odd.I must have not noticed before.

Whatever.I put on some nice music and get on my laptop to search for the job of my dreams—which obviously isn’t dressing up like a hybrid between a clown and a bear.No, what I really want is to produce a live show featuring rats, and I would call it Pied Piper.

For the moment, however, the best I can do is pitch my show to any place that might remotely consider making my dream a reality.

Oh, and I’m realistic enough to know that a show starring rats isn’t a traditional form of entertainment.Pied Piper is most likely a pipe dream, especially now that circuses around the US have cut down on animal acts in general.Case in point: the circus where most of my family works asked Grampa to retire his lion show a few years ago.

I smile.Grampa retired along with his show and then used his free time to teach me his craft—all the while thinking that I’d work either with lions like he did, or with bears like his great-grandfather did.When Grampa learned about the rats, he said, and I quote, “The only worse ideas would be working with cockroaches, ticks, or your grandmother.”

Regardless, I send out email pitches until my eyes get tired from staring at the screen, and then I head over to my favorite part of this apartment: my very own bedroom.

Damn.There’s no bunk bed or snoring trapeze artist on top of it.I look forward to sleeping like a baby who took an Ambien… except that isn’t what happens when I actually get into bed.

I’m kept awake by images of dark eyes, strangely sexy scowls, and hair on powerful arms.

Ugh.Is the bear messing with my sleep now?

No.I’m just horny without a specific reason—and now that I have privacy, I can actually do something about it.

I lick my fingers and slide them down under.

“Just make sure you do not think of him,” I remind myself as I circle my clit.“Whatever you do, don’t think of him.”

Yeah, no.The mantra doesn’t work, and Michael is exactly what I think about when I come.

But hey.It could have been worse.

I could have screamed his name and scared my rats.

Chapter6

Michael

After I get home and eat, I work on the trickiest part of my secret project: attracting investors.The problem, as usual, is that you have to be cordial when you interface with rich fucks, but cordiality isn’t my strong suit.However, being polite is easier in written communication.I just sprinkle in a copious amount of “pleases” and “thank yous.”Unfortunately, for the really big investors, face-to-face meetings are unavoidable… and much dreaded by me.

But I’ll do whatever it fucking takes.

Once I’m done emailing, I walk over to my telescope and point it at the tallest tree in the forest preserve outside my window.

Whew.The family of hawks is still there, including Eye, the little baby who hatched very recently.Given the local eagles, snakes, owls, and raccoons, I’m always concerned about the chick—which is not something I expected from a hobby like birdwatching.

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