Crookshanks, Scabbers, and the Grand Rodent Race of 1993

I wouldn't have been stuck with Scabbers if I hadn't been, uh, distracted. (Who could blame me! McGonagall's hot when she's not being human.) By the time I arrived at the NOON-PIC meeting, all the good rats were already taken. It was enough to make a tom hiss.

NOON-PIC, Noble Order Of Not-Plain Intelligent Cats. Don't look at me, I didn't name it. We're part of SMART, Society of Magical Animals, Real and Tame. If you live with people and got anything inside you that makes you more than a plain old animal, you're in. Got some Niffler blood in you? You're in. Got a human form you can use? You've got membership.

Most of the animals here at Hogwarts are SMART members.

Makes for amusing meetings.

     * * *

So anyway, back to business. NOON-PIC holds an annual event. A rat race. (GRR, if you have to know its name. Grand Rodent Race. No, I don't know what's up with all the acronyms either.) You pick a rat to use (a non-SMART member is officially encouraged, but they're the first ones picked. Usually.), then you train them. You make them run, keep them from making themselves into tubby little balls of fat, all that. It's easy enough to do at night, when most of the humans are snoozing away.

So long as you get a good rat, GRR is a fun event. Nothing like seeing a bunch of rodents scared out of their fur, chased in circles by cats.

Problem is, I got one of the worst rats in the castle.

No matter how I glare and growl at him when his owner feeds him junk food, he still stuffs his face with it. Ron hates me for "scaring" his pet. Little does he know I'm actually trying to help Scabbers get into shape! Damned rat sometimes tries to hide in Ron's pocket, but I always know he's there.

I can smell the chocolate on him.

     * * *

GRR's drawing closer. I've given up any hope of winning, I just don't want to come in last place (again), and I'm about to give up on hoping for even that much.

Scabbers has gone missing.

Damned rat!

Okay, okay, so I was a little harsh on him a couple of days ago, but does that mean he has to vanish? Even Ron doesn't know where he is. I can't go anywhere without hearing about it from the other cats.

"Hey there, Crookshanks! How's the," her tail twitches with her barely contained laughter, "training going?"

"Crookshanks, old buddy! I think I saw your rat down by the lake! No, seriously! It was trying to eat the giant squid! You better go stop it!"

"Boy, you got your rat trained well, Crookshanks! It runs so fast you can't even see it!"

GRR, indeed. I'm going to kill that rat when I find him...

     * * *

More wasted days, and I've almost given up on finding him again. Especially with the humans' interference: locking me out, locking me in. It's enough to make a cat gnaw his own tail off.

GRR.

Air, I need air, so I go out for a stroll. Just a walk around the grounds and ...no! I'm not purposefully avoiding other cats! It's just there ar-- What's this?

I stop and turn my head, putting my nose to the breeze.

Scabbers.

Smells like him, even though there's no one-- ah. No one to see, but I can /hear/ them. Under their cloak, they are. Hidden from eyes, but what's that matter to a cat? With my ears pinned back, I advance on them. The humans must have found him again. Of course that rat would be with Ron -- you see, he had absolutely nowhere else to go.

Scabbers must have spotted me. I can hear him struggling to get away, and the humans trying to keep hold of him.

Ron hisses, "Scabbers, keep still!"

Hermione, "Ron, be quiet! Fudge will be out here in a minute!"

The boy, "He won't-- stay-- put--"

"Crookshanks!" Hermione didn't sound too happy to see me. "No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away!

And Ron, as he lost his hold, "Scabbers -- NO!"

And the chase is on! Oh, Scabbers, I'm going to run you so hard! We're going to make up for lost time!

"I'm going to kill you! I'm going to rip your ratty little tail off and eat the rest of you! I'm going to pull your legs off one by one! Rip your ears off! Slit open your belly and eat your insides!" Oh, boy! Look at him run! Nothing like a little encouragement from a good coach!

     * * *

Conclusion.

No! I'm not avoiding other cats! No, I'm not hiding! I'm not that-- Okay. I'm hiding. Up in a tree, paws over my eyes, my tail (which all the ladies like, I'll have you know!) pressed against my side.

I wish I'd come in last in GRR.

I lost my rat. This time for good. He was caught by humans, and turned himself back into a man again, and then things got really bad.

And now he's gone. I don't need anyone else telling me that this time it's for good. The story has spread all over. Scabbers is gone from the school's grounds. Ran off to save his own filthy little hide. (And did he even thank me for training him to run so well? Did he think about how this would affect me? About what I would do without a rat to enter? No!)

GRR. Sigh.

The race is going on now. I can hear it. The moon is bright -- if I turned my head and looked in that direction I could probably see it.

Sigh.

Well who needs them! Who needs to watch a bunch of rats running around! Not me.

I rise and carefully climb back down the tree, claws digging in for purchase. I'll go see McGonagall. She'll turn herself into a cat if I ask just the right way.

We can have a race of a different sort.