Scritch-scritch. Skitter. Scrunch. There it was again. Something was under his bed. Timmy grabbed the cool metal flashlight from under his pillow, leaned over the edge of his bed and clicked the switch with his thumb. Something moved against the wall. An indignant squeak. Timmy did his best to hold the flashlight still. Two small beady black eyes shone back at him. A hairless tail twitched. And little pink paws pulled back against a furry white chest. It was a rat. A seven-inch long rat, with a dark brown head and neck. It looked like a hooded little bandit. Timmy thought, it's probably after my candy bar stash.

Timmy played his flashlight beam over it. The rat sat, unmoving, unafraid. There was a hole in his wall behind the rat. How long had that hole been there? The rat's eyes sparkled. The indignant expression on its face seemed to say, "What are you doing under my bed?" The flashlight beam revealed translucent pink ears and long white whiskers. He could see now that the rat's dark hood was its own natural fur.

Timmy did not like rats. And he was pretty sure that his grandmother didn't like them either.

Grandma kept her house clean. Dad had told him that Grandma was a major clean freak. That was why she wouldn't let him have a dog. Dogs shed hair and tracked mud into the house. Now what was he supposed to do?

Grandma was an old woman. He should protect her from the rat. Maybe he could find a trap in the garage. He sat up and started to slip his feet into his slippers. If he caught the rat, he could put the dead body and the trap in the trash can outside. Grandma would never have to see it.

His flashlight illuminated the poster on the back of his door: There was his hero: Michael Johnson, world famous sprinter, breaking through the victory ribbon. Seeing that picture reminded him--he still hadn't decided if he wanted to try out for the track team tomorrow!

Footsteps padded down the hallway. The door to his room creaked open. There stood Grandma, wearing her orange and pink peony-print nightdress. The rat squeaked, again. There was no hiding it from her now. Grandma stared at Timmy and spoke gruffly. "You must be the fastest flashlight in the East. Please lower your beam."

Timmy pointed his flashlight at Grandma's furry pink slippers standing on his red linoleum floor. "Sorry, Grandma. I wasn't expecting you."

"You've got good reflexes!" Grandma praised him. "Startle the invader, I always say. How did you get your flashlight on so fast? I didn't even hear it click"

"I heard a noise under my bed." Timmy paused. "Grandma, we've got a rat." He braced himself for what she might say.

Grandma smiled. "You found Hildegarde! I'm so relieved! I just bought her last week and I was worried that she had escaped!"

"You bought a rat?" Timmy couldn't believe it. "Then it's a good thing I didn't set a trap."

"Yes, indeed it is," said Grandma. "I think it's time I formally introduced the two of you." Grandma paused. "Please give me the light."