by Chama C. Fox - Aug 18, 2004

Thursday, September 22^nd

Have you ever noticed how often those adorable little lab rats develop uncanny intelligence to such a fantastic degree that they immediately understand that they must hide their progress and later escape in ingenious and spectacular ways?

Well, you're right. Neither have I… so far. But I'm absolutely certain that it will happen, and if I watch them closely enough, I'll be able to finally see it. They're cute so they must be clever.

I got this job today, working with the animals in the lab, and now I finally will have the chance, to be the first one to establish contact with other sapient beings. This is a dream come true!

Friday, September 23^rd

I presented myself to the rats in what I hoped to be an intelligent and amicable fashion. To further improve the situation, I went to a connoisseur cheese store, asking for their very best cheese. When the snooty man behind the counter asked me what my "particular preferences" were, I told him the truth: that I wanted to make a good impression on some very important rats. He was most unsympathetic and chased me out of the store, so I went to the supermarket and bought some Gouda instead.

The rats seemed to accept my little welcome present. I bowed deeply and left them to their discretion. I'm very curious to what they're telling each other about me, now. However, I will not try to listen in, since if they find out, it might give a bad impression. Maybe my approach is a bit servile, but my mother always said that a bit of humility never hurts.

Monday, September 26^th

Today I had the chance to tell the rats a little bit about myself, hoping to gain their confidence enough, so that they might relax when I'm around. Of course, I never told them my true intention, to catch them in the act of intelligent behavior. So far, it didn't go very well, or it did. It's hard to tell.

It seems that the rats are either excellent actors or that they are playing some kind of sophisticated game with me. Maybe they are testing whether I am intelligent enough or something. They seem to be trying to confuse me by calling themselves and each other "Squeak". They obviously are smart enough to hide their true names, but that also means that they must be smart enough to realize that my questions indicate that I see through their ruse. But, if that's the case, why are they still doing it? This is so confusing! I feel so ignorant!

Tuesday, September 27^th

I mostly worked with the other animals this day, but during the afternoon, I managed to get a bit more acquainted with Squeak. It seems that the Professor was going to inject Squeak with something and then put him in a maze. At the end of the maze, the professor had put another cage with a piece of cheese in, and he explained that when the rat finished the maze, I was to close the cage and notify the Professor. Obviously he wanted to cut Squeak up and evaluate his brain tissue or something along those lines.

To my immense delight, Squeak proved to be way too smart for the Professor. After having received the injection, Squeak just ran straight on until he hit a wall and then refused to go any further. He seemed to be biding his time, while expertly avoiding the death trap. I put Squeak back in his original cage and gave him some of the Gouda I had left. I also ran some magazines through the Xerox machine several times, setting the scale to the smallest I could so that I eventually ended up with something for Squeak to read.

Wednesday, September 28^th

I thought about the problem of the rats showing intelligence in such brilliant ways that I couldn't really explain it to the Professor. Maybe I'd have an easier time if the rats were compelled to do more obvious things, such as building a computer or playing the rat-sized violin. I scavenged a toy store, a do-it-yourself emporium and a radio shack for anything useful I could find and ended up with an assortment of equipment that should be enough to get any small civilization going.

The rats seemed to take my bribe with cool indifference, or at least, that's the expression that I got. A notable exception was one of the females (named Squeak). She made a nest out of some computer chips, electronic wiring, the hair of a doll and my driver's license that accidentally had gone into the cage with the other things. Otherwise, the rats didn't seem overly impressed by their new toys. I found that somewhat depressing.

Thursday, September 29^th

The Professor found the civilization kit I had given to the rats and somehow managed to figure out that I was to blame. He yelled at me at length about not having a professional attitude and that if I interfered with his experiments, the rats would have no scientific value, so he'd have to have all of them killed and that was expensive. He further added in a very unpleasant tone that he'd have no compunctions about firing me as well. In the end, he stormed out of the building, slamming the door hard behind him.

I spent a good hour trying to explain to the rats that they wouldn't get killed after all. They didn't seem to listen, even though I got quite upset. I'm starting to wonder whether I made a mistake. Maybe somehow they're not so smart after all. Maybe I should have been watching some of the other animals. I went home severely depressed.

Friday, September 30^th

Today I was fired due to gross negligence.

When I arrived at the lab in the morning, all the rat cages were open, unhinged with little pry bars made from the metal scraps I had given the rats. The main door to the building was open, a piece of string hanging from the door handle and two bent paper clips sticking out of the lock. The alarm system had not been triggered. Upon inspection, I found it completely stuffed with cheese. From the smell, I'd say that it was a week old Gouda. The guard dog was thoroughly knocked out. I found him on the lawn with one of the syringes the lab uses for anaesthetizing animals, sticking out of his hind quarters. Appalled, I rushed into the office to call the Professor. I remember reaching for the phone, and then…

When I woke up again, they were standing over me, policemen with their usual expression of "say-whatever-you-will-we-won't-believe-you-anyway" and the Professor, red-faced with fury. He was screaming and demanding to know what I had done with his lab. I tried to explain what the rats had done, which the police not very surprisingly seemed to disbelieve and the Professor just grew angrier by the minute.

When I wanted to show them the evidence, it was all gone. The little pry bars, the cheese, the string, the syringe. All had been removed. The police had a long talk with me about stealing things, and then an even longer talk with the Professor. In the end, since they couldn't prove that I'd actually done anything, the police let me go. The Professor immediately sacked me and said that if he'd ever see me again, he'd put me in a cage and throw away the key.

Monday, October 17^th

I'm out of a job, but what do I care? Now I have a mission! Every day, I use my social allowance to buy cheese and place in strategic places around the town. This way, I've come to meet many an interesting rat, unfortunately none of whom actually speaks to me, despite that I constantly tell them that I'm the one who engineered their escape. I don't understand why they don't answer me. I just want to talk to them!

It is precisely like I feared. They are simply too smart for me.

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