“The Rat Race”

The Elite Eight – Andre, Con, DeMar, Jone, Liza, Melon, Monty and Pierce – toed the white crosswalk line at the corner of North Beverly Drive and Lomitas Avenue, waiting for the start of a race that would let the winner leave this life behind forever.  This month’s series of races began with over one hundred thousand contestants and each of the eight finalists had to win seven races to get to this final test.

You see, the Elite Eight were rats.  Maybe the kind you are thinking about, maybe not.  They were not rats in the sense of being despicable, deplorable or deceitful people.  They were the kind of rats that live under wood piles, in attics and basements, and in and around trash and garbage.  The kind that desperately scavenged for any kind of food every night.  The kind that lived with hundreds or thousands of relatives in cramped spaces.  The kind that were called “diseased”, “gross” and “dirty” by humans, but were prized in laboratories and injected with all manner of illnesses and potential cures.

All of them, to a rat, hated their lives.

There was only one way out.

Win the race.

At the start line, the pre-race talk was a mixture of boasts, nerves and fears.

“Piece of cake.  Hope they make wings my size” said Pierce.

“You know I’ll be kicking yours just like I’ve done since we was pups” said DeMar.

“If I got to eat leftover steak and potatoes every day, I’d beat both of you easy!” cursed Melon.  “But I don’t live the good life behind Ruth’s Chris.”

“I just know I’m gonna finish second.  I busted my tail all month, and all that work and time is gonna get me nothing” whispered Con to his friend Liza.

“What are they waiting for?  I’ve gotta get food for my kids or my wife is gonna kill me” said Monty.

At that moment, the starter moved in front of the eight and gave them the race instructions.  They would start down Lomitas Avenue, turn right on Canon Drive, right on Elevado Avenue and finally right to the homestretch on North Beverly. There were no rules, but the eight all knew how important it was to hug the curb, both to cut off those that might try to pass you on the inside and to avoid getting hit by cars in the street.

“Who am I kidding?  No East End rat has ever won this race, Con,” said Liza in reply.

“Jone, you made it again?  This is what, five finals in a row?  How’d you do last time?” asked Monty as he wiped sweat from his forehead.

“I finished fifth all five times” said Jone in a monotone voice.

The starter spoke:  “On your mark, get set …… GO!

They bolted off the starting line and ran eight abreast for the first 50 feet as marked off in the street.  Andre assumed the early lead, as she wanted to be sure to be in front at some point in the race.  If she fell back later, she could claim some kind of injury and still save face.

“Andre, move it!  You’re blocking me!” shouted Pierce.

Right behind Pierce was Monty who had decided to sprint out and try to take an early lead, followed by Melon and then Jone in fifth place. Liza and Con were next, running side by side and surprisingly, DeMar was running in last place.

As they rounded the corner and turned onto Canon Drive, Monty shot into the lead with Andre falling back to third and showing a slight limp.

“Oh my god, I’m in the lead!  But do I even wanna win?  Could I really leave my family?” thought Monty as he turned and looked over his shoulder at Pierce and the other rats.  His little heart  pounded fiercely in his chest.

DeMar meanwhile had moved up to fourth place while Melon fell back to sixth.  Jone continued in fifth place.

“If my legs were as long as yours, I’d win this damn race, DeMar” screamed Melon as DeMar passed him.

Pierce, having seen Monty looking back at him, started in: “Enjoy it while it lasts Montague. You know I’m gonna crush you! It’ll be fun crapping on your head from above!”.

As they turned onto Elevado, Liza and Con were bringing up the rear.  “It’s hopeless!  I knew I shouldn’t have come today” cried Liza.

“Yeah, I knew It was gonna be a bad day when I saw my cousin get taken by an owl last night – bad omen for the day,” replied Con.

Meanwhile, Pierce was on Monty’s tail (figuratively) until Monty, who had turned to look to see where Pierce was, smashed into a can in the street and went down in a heap.  Pierce leaped over him into the lead and DeMar, who had continued gaining, now took over second place.  Andre had fallen back into fourth and was determined to avoid embarrassment by going home with at least a top-half finish.  Jone continued to hold onto fifth place.

At the final turn, it was Pierce and DeMar neck and neck. Both were sprinting full speed with 100 feet to go.

“I’m soaring in a few seconds and you know it!” shouted DeMar to Pierce.

“Uh-uh, no way”

50 feet to go.

Liza and Con were out of it, as they had been since they basically quit trying after the turn onto Canon Drive.  Melon was mad as hell to be stuck in sixth place.

“If I didn’t have to work so hard and could just train all day like the rest of you, I’d win this race!” he yelled.

Jone had a firm grip on fifth place.

With 25 feet to go, DeMar made his move and had a full-length lead on Pierce, who knew it was over.

“Yeah, I told you man!  I’m outta here!” yelled DeMar.

And as he crossed the finish line, whether by magic or divine justice (no one knows), he received the prize.  He was instantly transformed from a dirty, ugly rat into a beautiful, graceful, wide-ranging pigeon!

He soared up into the air a hundred feet and then dove straight down, leveling off just before he hit street level and buzzed Pierce and the other rats.

“See ya boys!  I’m hanging with a new crowd now!” said DeMar.

In every way, DeMar knew he had improved his stock in life. He now sported purple, green and gray plumage instead of patchy brown fur.  He could move a hundred feet a second with a couple of flaps of his wings instead of ten feet on the ground with maximum rat effort.  He knew anyone who despised him as a rat would love him as a pigeon.

He spotted a few of his new pigeon brethren sitting on the railing of a bridge that spanned the Franklin Canyon Reservoir and descended toward them.  He extended his claws to grip the bridge walkway railing, but his rapid approach caused him to miss the railing with one claw and plummet toward the water. Regaining his balance with a couple quick flaps, he circled back to the railing and this time stuck the landing, to a chorus of laughter from the other pigeons!

“Hey rook, nice landing!”

“Watch out where the huskies go, and don’t try to land on railings covered in poop!”

A little humbled but not intimidated, DeMar said, “Hey cut me a break, guys.  It’s my first day as a pigeon!”

“Oh man, so you won the Rat Race?” said a brown pigeon who looked up from the smashed, dried up worm he was scraping off the pavement with his beak.

“Yeah, finally get to leave that life behind” said DeMar.

DeMar watched as all five pigeons busted out in raucous laughter.

“Yeah, pigeon life is the bomb, man!”

“Should we have lobster or crab tonight gentlemen?”

“Can’t we have both?”

“I want mine in the penthouse!”

DeMar looked at them and said in a loud voice, “Look, maybe it’s not the high life, but it has to be better than being a rat”.

The brown pigeon walked over to DeMar and stood face to face with him, their beaks six inches apart.  “Really?  Look, here what it’s like buddy.  Everyone hates us.  They’re always trying to shoot us, poison us and trap us.  Hell, they feed us raw rice hoping we’ll eat it and explode.  We have to eat whatever we can find which is usually garbage unless we get lucky and some crazy old man throws a handful of seed at us.  Because of the crap we eat, we have the runs all the time so everywhere we hang out is covered in poop.  Nobody wants us around so we have to live way up high on buildings or under bridges where people can’t get to us.  Everybody says we’re diseased, gross and dirty.”

“Why do you think they call us rats with wings?” said another.

“But you can fly and you’re beautiful and ..” said DeMar.

“Seriously, man, I don’t know what you rats are looking at, but pigeonhood sucks.  That’s why we all train for the PigeOnlympics every year.  The winner gets turned into a cat.  That’s the life, man”.