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.

After a fun afternoon ob painting eggs, we stopped for mom to get a picture (she does that alot).

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!


This time… it’s Fish and Barry’s turn to turn 3.

Fish arrived ready to celebrate immediately—eyes on the whipped cream, fully committed, no notes. There is no “waiting politely” in his birthday philosophy. There is only joy and access. He allowed 60 seconds for the portrait to be taken, and he was ready to go!

Barry, on the other hand, showed up wiff the confidence ob someone who believes this entire ebent was organized in his honor specifically. Hat perfectly placed, posture impeccable, already accepting imaginary applause.

Together, they flanked the pamcake tower like a duo wiff very different strategies but the same goal: cake will be had.

There were moments ob chaos. There were moments ob frosting.
There was absolutely a moment where Fish made a bold mobe early and Barry pretended he had planned it all along.

Happy birthday, boys!!!

You are deeply lubbed—and yes, you can both hab the whipped cream.

To start the birffday weekend we are habbing some corms!! In two days Barry and Fish will be three!!

Fish had not planned to stop on the carpet. Technically speaking, Fish had berry important work to do inside. Word had already reached him—fru a highly reliable source (a waiter carrying a tray past the lobby)—that the after-party contained multiple cheese stations.

Multiple. Stations. This informashun had nearly short-circuited his brain.

Still, as he hurried toward the entrance of the Banity Fair after-party, he suddenly found himself surrounded by flashing cameras.

“Wait! Wait! The other rat!” “Ober here! Look this way!”

Fish froze.

He slowly placed one paw on the small silver posing stand, trying his best to look like a professional celebrity who absolutely belonged there.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

Behind him, a giant glowing BANITY FAIR sign lit up the night while photographers crouched and leaned forward to capture the moment.

Fish tilted his head slightly. He gabe a very serious expression.

Inside his head, howeber, a completely different conversation was happening.

Focus, Fish. You must remain calm. Soon you will reach the cheese.

He could practically smell it drifting fru the open doors.

Soft cheeses.

Sharp cheeses.

Cheeses from countries that probably required passports.

A photographer shouted, “Can you gibe us another pose?”

Fish lifted his chin bravely.

Click click click click.

But his whiskers twitched impatiently.

His tiny paws shifted on the stand.

Finally he leaned toward one nearby reporter and whispered urgently:

“Excuse me… do you happen to know if the cheese trays are already out?”

The reporter burst out laughing.

Fish did not laugh. This was not a joke.

At last the photographers finished their flurry ob pictures.

Fish hopped down from the posing stand, gave one final polite nod to the cameras…

…and ran for the door.
_____________________

Inside, somewhere beyond the music, the lights, and the sea of celebrities…The Banity Fair after-party was not, technically speaking, designed for rats.

This became clear to Reuben almost immediately.

The room was enormous. Music floated through the air. Celebrities drifted past like elegant, sparkly clouds. Waiters carried trays piled wiff delicate food that cost more than an entire Brooklyn bakery window.

Reuben stood just inside the doorway holding Baxter’s Oscar.

He had never held an Oscar before. It was very shiny and slightly heaby for someone wiff such polite little paws.

“Well,” Reuben murmured to himself, “I suppose I should find the others.”

That is when he heard a very familiar voice.

“REUBEN.”

Reuben turned.

There, crouched beside an enormous table, was Fish.

Fish’s eyes were wide. His whiskers were vibrating with excitement. And spread before him like the map of a sacred kingdom was the largest cheese display Reuben had ever seen.

Wheels. Wedges. Crumbles. Soft clouds of brie. Sharp towers of cheddar. Little signs wiff names Fish was already whispering reberently.

“Reuben,” Fish said, barely able to breathe, “this… is… a historic cheese moment.”

Reuben looked down at the table. “Oh my,” he said softly.

Fish had already begun.

He was racing back and forff along the table like a tiny food critic possessed by destiny.

“Triple crème brie from Normandy!”

“Saffron gouda!”

“Truffle pecorino!!”

He paused dramatically.

“REUBEN… THEY HAB TWELBE DIFFERENT GOAT CHEESES.”

Reuben set Baxter’s Oscar carefully on the table so he could examine a slice ob somefing delicate and fragrant.

Across the room, a cluster ob celebrities had gathered.

“Is that… the rat from the acceptance speech?”

“Is that another rat?”

“And… is that one… cataloging cheese?”

Fish had now pulled out a tiny notebook.

“The Oscar Cheese Map,” he explained proudly.

Barry burst fru the curtain a moment later, slightly out of breaff.

“I MISSED THE SPEECH??”

“You did,” Reuben said gently.

Barry noticed the Oscar. His eyes widened. “Oh.”

He picked it up and struck a pose.

“Fank you. Fank you all. I dedicate dis award to my brabery.”

“You were not nominated,” Reuben reminded him.

“Technicality,” Barry said.

At that exact moment a waiter passed wiff a tray ob miniature pastries.

Reuben froze. Tiny fruit tarts. Microscopic croissants. Little custard things that looked like dreams.

He politely selected one.

Fish gasped.

“REUBEN THERE IS ALSO A SECOND CHEESE ROOM.”

“A second—?”

Fish was already gone. Barry was gibbing an acceptance speech to a decoratibe plant.

Reuben sighed happily and took a delicate bite ob pastry.

Across the glamorous, glittering chaos ob the after-party, the tiny rat who preferred qwiet bakeries leaned against Baxter’s Oscar statue and smiled.

“All things considered,” Reuben said softly, “this is a berry nice ebening.”

And somewhere in the building…

Fish was discobering the parmesan tower.