Bob in his nice suit opened the door when he heard the scratching and at first he didn’t see anything at all. He didn’t see anything at all because the sound was the light scraping of a rat. The rat, cold in the wet and terrible night, was trying to get inside. Trying to get inside, this was clearly someone’s escaped pet. A pet who needs immediate care and rescue, thought Bob, who had been living in a mental desert since the death of the Flemish Rabbit, Yvonne. Yvonne had passed away right after Bob had folded up her new little bedding blanket, when he turned around and she was like a piece of common fluff, no longer his living animal. No longer his living animal, Bob remembers touching the rabbit to see if she was cold, picking her up and holding her near his heart. Near his heart it hurt since the death of the rabbit and he was pleased to see that a rat had found its way to his front door. A front door kind of guy, Bob felt unchallenged by the moment and let the rat inside. He let the rat inside and the rat had a look on its face of pleasure. Bob scooped the rat up, remembering holding his pet rat as a boy, remembering how to love it. To love, Bob felt, would be so damn easy. Easy does it, he said to the rat, who bit him on the hand, drawing blood.