In a tucked-away corner of the Vatican Gardens, where olive trees whispered old prayers and the smell of damp earth clung to the roots, a squirrel named Scurry raced against the coming cold.
Each morning, he sprang from his burrow with his tail high and his purpose higher. He gathered figs from the shadows of marble saints, dried chestnuts from beneath papal pines, even a crumbling biscuit or two dropped by cardinals on their afternoon stroll.
He moved like a whisper of wind—cypress to cypress, statue to fountain, stash to stash. Two stashes this year. The main one under the cypress near the basilica, and another higher up, in case the rains returned.
Because last winter, the flood had taken everything.
Not again.
Not this time.
An Unexpected Acquaintance
It was on his third sprint past the fountain of Saint Joseph that he saw the rat.
Grey as Roman stone, fur slicked back like it had been combed with oil, lounging on a broken bit of marble like a little duke.
“Ciao,” said the rat.
“No time,” puffed Scurry, cheeks full. “Winter’s coming!”
“Isn’t it always?” the rat murmured.
The next day, same spot.
“Ciao.”
“Still no time,” Scurry huffed, tail twitching.
Third day. The rat stood in the middle of the path.
“Amico,” he said.
Scurry skidded to a halt. His load spilled across the cobbles like an offering.
The rat smiled.
“Running yourself ragged. That’s no way to live. Bad for your heart.”
“I’m preparing,” Scurry said. “Two stashes this year. One uphill. Dry ground. Better safe than—”
“Sorry,” the rat finished. “Smart. You’re a planner. I like that.”
He offered a tiny paw.
“Maffy. And you?”
“Scurry.”
“Piacere. You know, Scurry—we’re not so different. You’ve got paws, I’ve got paws. You’ve got a tail, I’ve got a tail. Yours is fluffier. But we could be... brothers, no?”
Scurry tilted his head.
“Let me help,” said Maffy. “Cut your work in half.”
“You’d do that?”
“We’re family now.”
They worked until the sun bruised the sky with gold. Maffy kept pace, surprisingly nimble. At dusk, he took a few old chestnuts as thanks.
“Just leftovers,” he said. “Family rates.”
Help Comes with Strings
The next morning, a smaller rat stood at the path’s edge.
“Leonardo,” he said, voice chirpy. “Maffy sent me. He’s resting his joints.”
Before they started, Leonardo cleared his throat.
“About compensation—I’m happy to help, of course, but I’d appreciate my reward up front. No offense. It’s how we operate.”
Scurry hesitated. But Leonardo worked well, so he agreed. He left a small pile near a crumbling vent where the rats made their home.
The day passed. So did the next.
By the third day, four rats waited.
Leonardo stepped forward, paws folded behind his back.
“We’ve reviewed your reserves,” he said. “You’re well supplied. But running an operation like this takes effort. Coordination. Logistics. So Maffy proposes... a fair arrangement.”
“What kind of arrangement?”
“Half,” said Leonardo, smiling. “You keep half your food. We keep half. Think of it as insurance. Food spoils. We’ll make sure none goes to waste.”
Scurry frowned. “Half is... a lot.”
“But look what we’ve done,” Leonardo said, gesturing to the nearly finished stash. “You’re days ahead of schedule. We’ve made you rich in time.”
Scurry sighed. “Fine.”
As they worked, Scurry noticed that only two rats carried anything. The others lounged, munching noisily. One was even napping on a fig.
He said nothing.
Not yet.
Shadows in the Garden
Scurry began to notice other things.
Whispers between rats when he wasn’t listening. New faces around the garden—rats he didn’t know, watching him work. They called him “the Squirrel,” like he was a mark, not a partner.
Then came the new proposal.
Leonardo stood straighter that morning, paws folded like a preacher about to deliver a sermon.
“We’ve had a meeting,” he announced, “and the family has reached a decision. Starting today, all food will be centralized—stored and distributed by us. You come to us when you’re hungry.”
Scurry’s jaw dropped.
“You want me to hand over everything?”
Leonardo’s smile widened. “Well, you know… nobody questions the Ratfather.”
Scurry blinked. “The what?”
“Maffy,” Leonardo whispered. “That’s what we call him. Not to his face, of course.”
The Offer
That evening, Maffy strolled up the hill with the ease of someone who already owned it.
“You look upset, amico,” he said. “Is there a problem?”
“You’re stealing from me.”
“Stealing? Scurry, please. I’m protecting your investment.”
“I never agreed to this.”
“You did. When you let me help. That was the moment. You let me in. That’s how family works.”
“I didn’t ask for this kind of family.”
Maffy’s tone sharpened. “You want out? That’s fine. But I’ve got another idea.”
He leaned in close.
“There are other squirrels, right? Tired. Overworked. We help them. You get a cut. Referral bonus. We grow, you win.”
Scurry hesitated.
He remembered Maffy’s help. The kindness. The efficiency.
He said yes.
The Cost of Silence
Bernardo, a grey squirrel with a hollow tree near the Lourdes Grotto, was the first.
“Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t know how we’d survive the winter.”
Others followed. The Ratfather’s network spread through the gardens like ivy.
But soon, Bernardo stopped showing up.
Scurry found him beneath a fig tree, crying.
“They wanted more,” Bernardo said. “When I refused, they told others not to feed us. They scared my children. They said I was ungrateful.”
Scurry’s stomach turned.
This was his doing.
The Final Bargain
He marched to the sewer grate, breath sharp in the cold.
The rats stopped him.
“I want to see Maffy.”
“Name?”
“Tell him… it’s his brother.”
They returned. Maffy slunk out, mid-yawn.
“More complaints?”
“This ends,” said Scurry. “You stop harassing the others.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I’ll give you everything. My whole stash. Both burrows. Every fig, every chestnut. You take it all—but you leave them alone.”
Maffy tilted his head. “All of it?”
“Yes.”
Maffy grinned. “Agreed. And one more thing…”
“What?”
“Don’t come back. You’re no longer family.”
Scurry met his eyes. “I was never your brother.”
Winter’s Turn
Scurry's burrow was empty. The wind howled through the cracks. He nibbled a stick to quiet the hunger.
Downhill, the rats feasted.
They toasted with candied walnuts and honeyed crumbs. Maffy, round and pleased, sat atop a mound of hoarded food.
Then the rain came.
First a drizzle.
Then a stream.
Then a flood.
Water seeped through the grates. The sewer swelled. The stash turned to mush.
By morning, the rats emerged coughing, soaked, desperate.
Maffy saw Scurry watching from the hill.
“This is your fault!” he shouted, drenched and trembling.
Scurry didn’t flinch. “I gave you everything.”
Maffy snarled. “Then I’ll take what’s left!”
Scurry stepped into his path, rain sliding off his fur.
“Go ahead, Ratfather,” he said quietly. “I have zero nuts to give.”
Behind him, the rats were already slinking away, soggy tails dragging through the mud, vanishing into the shadows beyond the Vatican wall.
The Light of Christmas
Christmas Eve.
The square was quiet. No tourists. No noise.
Only the hush of holy night.
Under the great Christmas tree, Scurry sat with Bernardo and his children. A sister squirrel passed him a fig.
Together, they stared at the nativity. A tiny child in a manger. A mother. A father. Straw. Stillness.
“You’ve taken care of me,” Scurry whispered. “Like family.”
Bernardo smiled.
“What did you expect?” he said. “We’re squirrels. And more than that…”
Scurry chuckled.
“We’re brothers.”
“Merry Christmas,” they said together.
And in the heart of winter, warmth returned.
🐾 The End
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