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I have to get to the book, thought Oli, the trash rat. Sure, a handful of long-dead relatives died due to getting crushed in a book, but Oli knew better. He knew the humans. They'd never crush him in or with a book... besides that tall woman in the library. Oli clenched his fist just thinking of her. Her dark hair that bounces as she walks, the loud clacks of whatever weird fancy thing she had on those feet. Yuck. What a sorry excuse for a shoe! The only footwear the trash rat needed was his red shoe, stolen from the trash, of course. He'd never seen another shoe like it. So small, yet so special. Red, like... him.
The man of his dreams, the man who held the rat's heart. Papa. His dear Papa. Oli knew this butler like the back of his hand. A dirt stain there, some trash there, a little poop... But the butler was clean. Cleaner than clean. And he always took the garbage out.
Oli loved when he took the garbage out.
He saw the glisten of those deep, tealish eyes. A flurry from the depths of the ocean... Oli remembered the ocean. The trash there was too wet to eat, it'd just crumble in his poor little rat hands. The plastic was pretty tasty, though. Damn. At least running around meant he could meet this beautiful specimen of a human and see him. And hear him. Hear him say the garbled speech of human language, some words easier to make out than others.
Oli thought of his father.
His father heard humans speaking in the club the night he got flushed away. He suppressed a tear before focusing on the matter at paw: the book.
Maybe he could learn how the humans speak someday. Maybe the butler could teach him. A working man like that could easily understand how important it is to speak multiple languages... maybe rat could be among them. The rat sighed dreamily-- what a perfect world that would be! A world where he and his love could talk and speak. After all, the butler can only read Oli's words. Oli can hardly read his words.
Oli cleared his throat, face growing warm.
'Papa.
My heart yearns for you. I see your face in the trash lids. I see your hair in the egg whites. You are everywhere, yet you are not always with me. I often have to remind myself that we are in the same house-- the same world. And I can take the time to appreciate that.
Have you met the janitor? What an asshole. I think I'd feel better if you were the one holding the net, papa.
Such a shame it is that I cannot stare into your eyes, look at those rosy cheeks covered by frosty hairs. How is it that you're able to hold the heat of summer in your heart yet the cold of winter in your face?
Your secret admirer.'
He stared at the page, observing the letters he wrote. It was some form of fancy cursive he unfortunately never learned how to read.
Sniff.
Sniff Sniff.
Roses and apples and all the beautiful scents of the world! Could that be... him?
An older gentleman, the Butler tried to keep himself poised as he entered the room. Oli could tell he was excited, and quickly set the book back down on the desk and hid in a convenient location. Papa fidgeted with the cuffs of his sleeves as he approached the book, giving himself a quick moment to look around. You don't gotta be scared of my love. The human sighed, got comfortable in that large chair, and read. The tides of his eyes looked over Oli's words, a smile forming underneath his beautiful facial hair. His perfect hair. What a silver rat. Oli had to suppress his desire to speak out, yell his love for the world to hear.
Unfortunately, the life of a trash one is not one that can be suppressed.
"PAPA!" Oli cried out. The older man jumped out of his seat. "Papa, can you hear me?"
"I... can?" He looked around the room yet again, making sure to close his very special and important book as he did so. "Where are you?" He stood up. "Did you write this?"
"I'M DOWN HERE!!" He cheered. "I DID WRITE THAT! Can't really read it all, but I'm sure you understand what it says."
"It's brilli-" the butler stopped what he was doing and stared down at the rat. The rat holding his hands out. The rat that felt tears coming to his eyes. "You're a rat?"
"I thought that was obvious."
"I can't... I can't be in love with a rat."
"I know... it's forbidden." Oli looked around. "But you understand me. You get me."
The butler stepped away. "No... you're a rat... I'm... I'm supposed to catch you. To kill you. To rid this property of your kind... how did you write this?"
"Well--"
"I don't want to know," he interrupted, a frown on his face quickly covered by two strong hands. "I can't know. I don't know how I can hear what you're saying..." The butler let himself peek through his fingers, sliding his hands down his cheeks as he spoke with a groan. "I remember you."
"You do?!"
"You were squeaking at me last week. I..." He stepped back further. "I need a moment. To myself."
"I get it, it's a lot to take in. I'll still be writing to you."
"And I'll still be reading."
As fast as a fire can go out in a rainstorm, the butler was gone. Oli was left in his cold, wet lonesome. He didn't even remember how he got so soggy. Rat sweat, he told himself, though most rats don't sweat.