The Posh Rat Story Series: Episode 8 - Flea For All

Flea For All

Reginald “Posh Rat” Twitch looked dashing in his finest wool jumper. He walked into the study and turned up the volume on the old radio. Classical was Poshy’s favourite type of music.

“How’s the new Pinkertech™ flying jacket coming along today Barnes?” he asked me. “I’m excited to try it out.”

“It’s nearly done,” I said. “If our assistant here would just stop wiggling...”

*scritch, scritch, scritch*

“I can’t sit still, sit still,” said Barnaby Raisin, the mole. “I’m too itchy, too itchy.” 

Barnaby was wearing a black jacket. And I was installing a secret folding propeller into it.  Barnaby couldn't stop scratching his shoulder with his hind leg.

I pulled the jacket off him and took a look at his fur with my magnifying glass.

*gasp*

“Fleas!” I exclaimed.

Just then, we heard the familiar click-tack, click-tack footsteps of Father Twitch coming down the hallway.

“Barnaby! Father is coming. Stop scratching,” Poshy said, his  whiskers wiggling. “We must NOT mention anything to him about fleas! There will be huge trouble for all of us if he thinks there are fleas in the mansion.”

Father Twitch walked in at that moment and said, “Did you hear the news? There are reports of filthy fleas along Ratford Street.” He looked at us through his monocle then clacked his cane on the floor. 

*CLACK!*

“Lock every door! Seal every window!” 

“Father, really? Fleas are a natural part of life,” Poshy said. “They just happen to show up once in a while.”

“Nonsense! Fleas are for dirty beasts,” Father snarled. “I’ve never had fleas in my mansion! That will not change today. Seal it all up!”

Barnaby Raisin’s eyes were watering. You could tell he was dying to scratch himself. But he couldn’t do it in front of Father Twitch.

“Why is the mole starting to cry?” Father asked.

“Um...Um...” Barnaby Raisin gritted his teeth. A tear ran down his cheek. 

Poshy thought fast. “This classical music we’re playing is quite sad and beautiful.” Poshy turned the radio up and began to dance towards his father. “Father! Fancy a quick dance?” 

“No, thank you!” Father Twitch scoffed. He spun on his heel and left the room. 

“That was good thinking, good thinking,” Barnaby Raisin said, finally scratching himself madly.

*scritch, scritch, scritch*

“We need to get those fleas off of you and out of here,” I said, looking at Barnaby’s fur through my magnifying glass.

“Do you think there could be more fleas in the mansion?” Poshy asked. Then, Poshy scratched himself behind the neck. I felt an itch at the base of my tail. 

“Goodness! The fleas move fast,” I said. “They seem to be everywhere! We must act quickly.”

“Could we use this?” Posh Rat took a glass football-sized ball from my gadget shelf. The object had a battery pack and a tube coming out of the top. “It’s the see-through CrystalVac™ you invented for parents to see if they've sucked up any of their kids' small, plastic toys.”

“Oh. I suppose it could work to suck up fleas,” I said, turning it on. 

First, I sucked every flea off Barnaby Raisin. Poshy and I then stripped down to our undergarments and sucked up all the fleas on our bodies. 

*floop* *floop* *floop*

After we both cleaned up, Poshy tried on his new Pinkertech™ flying jacket and I put my clothes back on.

And then, we got to work checking the rest of the mansion for fleas. I crawled along the floor with my magnifying glass, while Poshy kept an eye out for Father Twitch. Barnaby Raisin followed behind me, ready to suck up any fleas with the CrystalVac™.

*floop* *floop* *floop* 

Soon, the glass ball held many fleas. We saw them jumping around inside.

“Hopefully that’s all of them,” I said. 

“Let’s get them out of here before your father sees, father sees,” said Barnaby Raisin to Poshy. 

We crept down the corridor, carrying the glass ball very carefully.

“We have to pass Father’s parlour without him noticing,” Poshy said. We tiptoed past the room where Father Twitch was reading. 

“A-choo!” Barnaby Raisin sneezed. Father looked up from his Rat Times newspaper. He looked at us over his reading glasses.

“What are you up to?” he asked. 

“Just out for a stroll around the mansion,” Poshy lied.

“What are you carrying?” Father asked.

“Uh...just one of our, uh...giant lightbulbs,” Poshy said with wiggling whiskers. 

“You know we pay Herman the butler to change those!” Father scowled and pulled the newspaper back up in front of his face. We continued along the corridor.

“Should we release these fleas into the hedges out back, out back?” Barnaby Raisin whispered. 

“Good thinking, ” Poshy said. “Let’s go out the basement’s back door. No one will see what we’re doing.”

It was dark in the basement. It was also slippery. Just as we had almost made it to the basement’s back door, Barnaby’s foot slipped on a damp stone step. 

“Whoa-OH!” Barnaby shouted and grabbed my sleeve. He fell to the stone floor, pulling me down with him. 

“NOOO!” I called out.

*CRASH!*

The glass ball holding all the fleas crashed to the stone floor. The insects started jumping around the area near the back door. 

“Oh, dear!” I yelled. “The CrystalVac™ is smashed. There’s no way to get them out of the mansion now!”

“I’m so clumsy, so clumsy!” Barnaby said.

Poshy’s whiskers went flat. He spun around and turned his back to the fleas.

“Open the door. NOW!” he said.

I scurried quickly, turned the large handle and swung the door open. Poshy reached inside his Pinkertech™ flying jacket pocket and pushed a button. 

“Hold on to my tail,” he said. The jacket’s propeller unfolded from the back of the coat and began to spin.

*brrrrrUMMMMM*

The spinning propeller created a strong wind.

“The fleas!” Barnaby shouted. “They’re getting blown out the door!” 

And, indeed, Poshy’s brilliant plan was working! He turned the speed up to high and we held his tail so he wouldn’t fly away. 

The propeller’s wind blew every flea right out the door and into the back garden. Once they were out, Poshy stopped the jacket’s propeller. I quickly closed and latched the door. 

*CLUNK!*

Later, we all sat in the study. I poured a cup of tea and handed it to Posh Rat. 

“The funny thing is,” Poshy said, “Father still thinks he’s never had a flea in the mansion.”

Just then, Father Twitch walked past the doorway of the study. 

“How are you doing, Father?” Poshy asked.

“Fine, fine. Lovely day,” he replied. 

Father walked on, scratching himself behind the ear.

The End