A Notable Rat

I feel sorry for the dead rat. It was not an urban or country, it was a suburban rat; it had a code of behavior. It never infested, or stole it strolled these leafy avenues with a certain rodent pride. It’s Autumn and the trees are aflame with medium income wealth, the foliage lush cultivated to be plush. Yet here under a mighty maple lies the body of a noble rat; rigor mortis cannot hide from our eyes its once lordly existence. With my foot, I cover it with a blanket of regal red and golden leaves, as if it were a fallen eminence of a minor kingdom, a place where even rats may claim title to two or even three car garages.