In the walls of the house where I grew up, lived a rat. The wall between mine and my sister’s room specifically, at first, anyway. Before long, that rat found its home throughout the house, going about its business, and we quickly became fast friends.

I loved that rat, and it loved me. Two peas in a pod, we were. Until one day my mother heard me talking to it, face pressed against my bare bedroom wall; whispering to the hollow space within. She tried to make the rat go away, tried to take my best friend away from me; all because she was so bitterly jealous of how close we were. I couldn’t let her. So, I fed her to it.

In the place I am now, all white and bouncy, there isn’t much space in the walls. I miss the rat, I hope it comes back, but the pills they give me make me sleepy.

Is that your squeaking I can hear? Have you come to visit me, Mr. Rat?