I Saw a Rat on Bay State Road

By Aayushi Datta | Photo by Lizzy Morearty

MONSTERRRRRRRRRRR!!

Ok, Panic is over. Let’s get back to reality everyone. 

I see a rat. A rat, I see. A rat is seen by me. My almond-shaped eyes with dark brown orbs had the opportunity to get a glimpse of a creature known as The Rat. 

It was Bay State Road, to be fair. But it might also have been the 15 packets of cheese I hoarded in my backpack. Who knows?

“It’s because you’re the chosen one, my cheesious,”  said The Rat. 

Okaaayy. Am I high, or did that rat just talk? 

“Oh, my cheesious, I do more than talk. I orate.” The beastly creature said. 

O-what now. Yes, definitely high. 

“And you—yes, you—are the chosen one!” The rogue rodent exclaimed. 

I blinked. “The what?”

“The Chosen One. The Keeper of the Sacred Dairy. The Guardian of the Gouda. The Prophet of Parmesan—”

“Okay, I get it.”

The Rat paused, whiskers twitching. “Do you?”

I glanced at my backpack, now suspiciously heavier. Had I finally lost my mind after one too many grilled cheeses?

“Look, I’m not chosen for anything,” I said, adjusting my backpack straps. “I was just trying to make it home without being verbally accosted by a rodent.”

The Rat gasped. Actually gasped. 

“How dare you? I am no mere rodent! I am King of the Cheese Kingdom! The Ruler of the Forgotten Crumbs! The Overlord of—”

“Okay, I really get it.”

The Rat crossed its tiny arms. “Then you must prove your worth. Will you accept your destiny?”

I stared. Hard. I can’t believe this is happening. “What exactly does that mean?”

The Rat’s nose twitched with glee. “It means we’re going to take over the world, one cheese packet at a time.”

I sighed. Deeply.

“I wish I were carrying rat traps instead,” I murmured to myself 

The Rat gasped again, this time clutching its tiny chest like I had personally insulted its ancestors. "Rat traps?! Rat traps?! My cheesious, you wound me." 

Bloody rat ears. 

"Don't call me that," I muttered.

"You say that now," The Rat said, pacing in a dramatic circle, "but soon you will embrace your true nature. Soon, you will understand."

"Understand what?"

"That you and I are not so different."

I stared at it. "I am a human."

"Details." The Rat waved a dismissive paw. "Now, come. We must begin the first phase of our world domination plan."

"Which is?"

The Rat looked up at me with an intensity I did not appreciate.

"We infiltrate a Cheesecake Factory."

I blinked. "That… actually makes sense."

"Of course it does!" The Rat threw its tiny arms in the air. "That place is practically a dairy fortress. And once we claim it as our own, we will have access to an unlimited supply of cheese!"

"Pretty sure they also serve salads," I said.

The Rat shuddered. "Do not speak of the leafy poison."

I sighed again. My night had gone from normal to absolutely feral in the span of five minutes, and I was somehow still standing here, entertaining this nonsense. But deep down, I knew the truth.

I was curious.

Curious about the Cheese Kingdom. Curious about the so-called destiny I had apparently inherited. Curious about whether this rat actually had a plan or was just 50% cheddar delusion.

So I did what any sane person wouldn't.

"Alright," I said. “The nearest Cheesecake Factory is at Prudential I think."

The Rat’s eyes gleamed. "Now you're speaking my language."

The Rat scampered up onto my shoulder, striking a heroic pose. “Onward, my cheesious! To glory! To conquest! To—”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get this over with.”

We marched toward the Cheesecake Factory with purpose (well, I marched, The Rat mostly just vibed on my shoulder like a tiny, unhinged pirate captain). But as soon as we reached the doors, a horrifying realization hit me.

I turned to The Rat, my face pale. “Wait… do they even have free cheese?”

The Rat blinked. “...What?”

“I mean, think about it. It’s Cheesecake Factory, not Cheese Factory. Most of their stuff is dessert. There’s barely any actual cheese involved.”

The Rat’s whiskers twitched violently. “No. No, that can’t be. That’s false advertising! That’s—”

“The menu is, like, 80% pasta and cake.”

The Rat slowly slid off my shoulder, collapsing dramatically onto the sidewalk. “Lies… treachery… betrayal…”

I patted its tiny back. “Hey, at least they have nachos?”

The Rat looked up at me, eyes filled with the kind of existential dread usually reserved for philosophy majors.

“I have devoted my life… to a lie.”

And just like that, The Rat removed its tiny Dorito-crumb crown, placed it gently on the ground, and walked solemnly into the night.

I never saw him again.

But sometimes, late at night, when I open a fresh packet of cheese, I swear I hear a tiny whisper in the wind.

“My cheesious….”