Sheriff Barry adjusted his tiny hat and narrowed his eyes at the swinging doors ob the Ratty Saloon. The whole town had been whispering for weeks about the outlaw known only as Black Bart — a scruffy troublemaker wiff a talent for disappearing right after ebery crime.

Missing sunflower seeds. A suspicious cheese tax. Four tiny boots stolen off the general store display.

And worst ob all…someone had drawn mustaches on all the wanted posters.

“Dat’s him,” Barry muttered softly, climbing onto a wooden crate outside the saloon. “Only Reuben, eh, I mean Black Bart… would commit crimes dat oddly specific.”

Inside the saloon, hidden in the shadows, Black Bart peeked fru the doorway. His whiskers twitched nervously. He had barricaded himself inside wiff a napkin, two crackers, and absolutely no real escape plan.

The townsfolk expected a dramatic showdown.

Two rats. One dusty street. Tiny paws hobering ober pretend holsters.

But Barry was not really the gunfight type.

Instead, he placed a pile ob the tasty Cowboy Crunch on the crate in front ob him and settled down comfortably.

“Well,” Barry announced, nibbling thoughtfully, “I suppose I can wait.”

Inside, Reuben blinked. Outside, Barry continued eating crunchies one by one while the afternoon sun drifted across the tiny western town. Ebery now and then he called into the saloon:

“Yer still under arrest.” A pause. “Do I still get snacks?” Reuben asked from inside.

Barry considered this berry seriously. “Depends how many crimes you confess to.”

Another long silence passed before Reuben slowly pushed open the saloon door just enuff for his nose to appear.

“I may hab accidentally stolen the mayor’s edamame.”

Barry sighed. “Dat WAS you.”

“And possibly replaced the town water tower wiff oat milk.” Barry took another bite of Cowboy Crunch.

The outlaw life clearly exhausted Reuben, because moments later he shuffled out peacefully and sat beside Barry on the crate instead. The two shared snacks while the sunset glowed ober the Ratty Saloon.

No gunfight occurred. Mostly because both of them preferred treats to violence. And because Sheriff Barry secretly knew the town was a lot more interesting wiff Reuben around.

(Fank You Ratty Box for another brilliant box and inspiring the imaginashuns ob rats everywhere).

It was exactly three years ago today—on the annibersary of Marty’s Gotcha Day in 2013—that we drove down to Squeakin’ Pups Rattery finking we’d bring home three or four new boys. Instead, we came home with five!

Well, technically we came home with four that day. The fabulous Fish was still too tiny and needed another week to percolate. But our new little family was set: five glorious boys ready to begin what has become an absolutely wonderful three-year journey.

I’m still amazed and grateful that we still have three of them with us, soaking up every precious day – and we appreciate every day we get.

Here are a few things about each of them you might not have heard before:

Barry is unbelievably strong—I’ve never met a rat with his kind of power—but inside he’s just a big softy and one of the sweetest boys ever.

Reuben has appointed himself the official sleep box gatekeeper. If Barry or Fish (mostly Barry) try to enter through the front door, they’re met with loud squeaks of protest. But if they go around to the back door? Perfectly fine.

Fish is our dedicated hoarder. If food needs stashing, he’s on the job—he’s officially in charge of the pantry. He also loves sleeping in my hoodie. When they’re out in the mobie night vehicle, he’ll climb up my sleeve, up my arm and onto my shoulder, and settle in for hours.

Happy Gotcha Day, my fabulous boys. Thank you for filling our lives with so much joy. And thank you all for coming along on this journey with us!!

Anyone want some cheese?

The unicorms gathered from across the globe on this day ob celebrashun, each one arribing wiff a soft clop, a shimmer, or in one dramatic case, a full somersault through a ring ob sparkles (he insisted it was “standard protocol”).

They whispered the password at the velvet-draped entrance—“glitter never forgets”—
and were admitted into the Grand Conbenshun Hall, where the air itself practically twinkled.

Inside, seminars were in full swing.

There was a berry intense panel on Glitter Distribution Equity (which quickly turned into a passive-aggressive discussion about “certain regions hoarding the premium sparkle”). Another room hosted a workshop on Adbanced Mane Floofing Techniques, led by a particularly glamorous unicorm who refused to answer qwestions unless they were asked “wiff confidence and proper posture.”

Snacks were…controversial.
Tiny frosted pastries (aka donuts) had been probided, but by midday, crumbs had become a political issue.

And there, seated at the front table—horns gleaming, capes draped, notes scattered—
were the three most unexpectedly serious attendees:

Fish.
Reuben.
Barry.

Fish had been qwiet all day. Too qwiet.

He had taken notes during ebery session, occasionally nodding, occasionally squinting, once dramatically circling the word “cheese???” in the margin ob a glitter policy document.

So when the final seminar began—“Sustainable Sparkle: A Forward-Looking Approach”—
no one was prepared when Fish slowly stood up.

He cleared his throat, adjusted his tiny cape, and said:

“I propose… we replace glitter… wiff… cheese.”

Silence. Not the polite kind.

The kind that makes time stop and a single crumb fall off a donut in slow motion.

A unicorm in the back gasped so hard her horn wobbled.

Barry froze mid-snack.

Reuben leaned forward like he knew something chaotic was about to happen and wanted a front-row seat.

Fish continued, gaining confidence.

“Think about it. Glitter gets eberywhere. It is… difficult. Emotionally. But cheese? Cheese is useful. Cheese is delicious. Cheese brings people together.”

A murmur rippled across the room.

Someone whispered, “He’s not wrong…”

Another unicorm clutched their chest: “But what about tradishun??”

Fish, now fully committed, placed both tiny paws on the table.

“We create… a Cheese-Based Sparkle System. Soft cheeses for shimmer. Hard cheeses for structure. Aged varieties… for prestige.”

Now the room erupted.

Half the unicorms were horrified.
Half were deeply intrigued.
One immediately began sketching a “Brie Dust Prototype.”

Barry slowly raised a paw. “…would snacks improve?”

Fish turned to him, eyes gleaming.

“Exponentially.”

Reuben stood up. “I just want it on record that I support whatever improbes the most snacks.”

And just like that…

The Great Glitter Debate ob Unicorm Day began.

No one remembered the rest of the agenda.
No one agreed on anything.
But by the end of the night, there were whispers in the halls…

…of a new mobement.

A bold mobement.

A slightly smelly, but very passionate mobement.

And somewhere, at the center of it all—

Fish sat qwietly, nibbling a piece ob cheese, watching history unfold.

Happy Rat Day!!   Would you like a piece ob cheese??

Fank you for all the birffday wishes!  Please come join us and hab a pamcake!  Celebrashuns are more fun wiff eberyone!