The Cabin Boy and the Rat

So, there we are. I'm tucked up nicely in the cabin boy's pocket when the Captain tells us we're going to be thrown off the ship! I've seen this before - crew member is forced to walk this plank, off the side of the ship and into the deep blue yonder. And is never seen again.

Ever.

I soon move, I can tell you and poke my snout out of the opening and sniff the air. I smell excitement, salt and feet. But also those dry crackers they keep in the hold. They'll keep for later.

The boy notices and says, "Don't worry, Ratty. We'll be alright," and his backside is prodded by one of those sharp things they try and kill me with (as if they're fast enough!) and there's cheering and I smell something else.

Fear.

And then, he's stepping up, my feeder and he's quivering and quavering and blubbering the whole time and I'm thinking, "I'd better get out of here." I'm starting to panic myself because the big 'un, the bosun, is on the plank too, laughing madly and jumping up and down, cheered on by the others and the plank's bouncing.

And just as he goes over the edge, I make a leap for it and cling to the edge of the plank.

Phew!

Last thing he sees is me looking down at him, his arms flailing as he hits the drink.

"Ratty!" he shouts. "NO!"

Is this ship sinking? I don't think so.

***

This story was written in response to the Vocal Social Society prompt to write a microfiction story of 250 words or less about "A Pet on a Boat."

The moral of the story? Choose your pets wisely.