MR. NIBBLES

"You Dirty Rat..." -James Cagney

Every spring, right after Mother’s Day,  my mother would  go on a sewing frenzy. She had an old Singer sewing machine with foot pedals. I have fond memories of the motor humming thru the night till the wee hours of the morning. It always made me feel safe. She would stay up , watching  late night tv, drinking tea and calmly talking to the sewing machine as thread broke and bobbin emptied.

She created drapes, table cloths, skirts in various  widths, colours and fabrics, sundresses, shorts, in great quantities. One year she decided we needed capes. Matching capes. Bright, scary yellow her choice. 

“Matching Capes” she said one year. “We can wear them to church.”

Yeah. No. that’s okay. I was pushing fourteen. A yellow cape was not in my repertoire.

Didn’t matter, she sewed day and night to make us flappy, yellow capes. Lined with striped silk.  Meanwhile, I practised  violin in the other room, watching the world go by.

The world going by was one Mr. Nibbles. A big brown rat. With big eyes, a long tail and expressive eyes.

He liked to sit on the upturned garden pail and smoosh seeds into his mouth. The seeds were for the birds. But Mr. Nibbles had found them some time ago. He’d hold them with his little paws and his teeth would zing back and forth.

I found Mr. Nibbles fascinating. 

Especially when my mother was preoccupied with sewing. I had asked for pockets. She was making yellow pockets for my cape. Flap. Flap.

“I’m going out to see  Mr. Nibbles”.  My mother waved at me, just beyond the door,  while she ripped out a seam.

I made a  peanut butter and sardine sandwich ( don’t knock it, till you try it) and sauntered out to the upturned pail . 

Mr. Nibbles stood up on his hind legs and looked at me. I wouldn’t say he was tame. But he recognized me. I guess I was sort of a rat-whisperer……

I took a piece of my sandwich and put it down on the pail. I never touched him at any time, ever. I just liked to watch him eat.  

He picked up the piece of peanut butter sandwich  and I took up my leftover half and we ate together. His little teeth zoomed as he stuffed most of it in his mouth. Peanut butter seeped out of his lips and he smacked with relish.

Every other day or so I had a treat for him. Some days it was part of a  cupcake, or cookie, but he was partial to peanut butter and sardine sandwiches.

He wasn’t too crazy about apples. And peanuts got stuck in his teeth.

A week went by, and miraculously, the yellow capes were ready to try on.

Oh joy. Oh rapture, I said to Mr. Nibbles on that day.

They were bright canary yellow. Exactly the same. With holes for arms instead of pockets.  Brighter than the sun.

The capes were made with  some sort of rough, drapery  fabric, so they would be durable. Itchy. Scratchy.

I showed Mr. Nibbles the cape. He pawed the air for his sandwich. I produced a half one , gooey with smooth peanut butter, cherry jam and about three extra oily sardines stuffed in for good measure.

I flapped my arms and crowed like a chicken. My mother came out of the house with her camera and  her new yellow cape on her arm, 

Mr. Nibbles sat on the half sandwich I had given him. He looked up at my mother. She looked down at him.

Her shrieks rained down . She whipped off her cape and started slapping it against the pan.

Mr. Nibbles hightailed it to safer ground. The  mushy sandwich went flying.

He vanished into the trees.My mother’s new cape was covered in sardines and  peanut butter. She never cleaned it, never wore it again. 

“Wrong colour,anyways,” she said “Maybe purple would be better”

She  never made another cape.She never asked about Mr. Nibbles. She never asked what happened to that yellow cape. Flap. Flap. I left it under the porch one day. Mr. Nibbles found it.

Sometimes, I saw him toodling about the garden. Sometimes I found him curled up on that old, formerly scary, yellow cape, under the porch. 

Sometimes I imagined he winked at me …..

Photographs 2022