“Stop screaming, Auntie Fran! You’re going to scare my kitty!” Debbie shouted as she continued to stroke the back of the rat she was holding. It was stuck on a glue trap and it wiggled with all its might trying to get free.

“Debbie! Put it down! It’s not a kitty! It’s a rat!” I jumped to my feet and shouted. “Drop it!”

“No!,” she shouted back as she pointed at me. ”First of all, I found it, it’s mine! Second of all,” she screamed as she stomped her foot, “my name is Diva Debbie and…”

“Drop it, Diva!” I lunged at Debbie and tried to smack the rat out of her hand. Unfortunately, instead of my hand landing on the back of the rat, it landed on the glue trap and stuck there.

“Somebody help me!” I screamed as I jumped around, trying to fling the trap off my hand, but there was no one around. I was so crazed, I lost my balance and fell backward. I landed on the first few bikes in the aisle and then the rest of the bikes toppled over and crashed to the ground one by one.

Debbie cried and screamed, “I’m telling mommy on you! You took my kitty! You’re not my friend!”

She then fell to the floor and had the temper tantrum of a lifetime. I couldn’t pay any attention to Debbie lying on the floor, screaming, crying and flailing her arms around like a maniac because I was too busy lying on the floor, screaming, crying and flailing my arms around like a maniac.

“Somebody help me! There’s a rat stuck to my hand!” I screamed.

As soon as I shouted for help, Debbie’s cries got louder. “Pick me up! I want you to carry me!” she screamed, still lying on the floor. I just ignored her. I had a bike pedal in my back and a rat two inches from my hand, the diva would have to wait.

“Security to the bike aisle. Mickey is in the bike aisle,” said a panicky voice on the store intercom.

Before I could digest the “Mickey” reference, a big man in a uniform was jogging up the aisle in my direction. He must have been two hundred pounds overweight.

“Hold still miss, I‘m … I’m coming!” he shouted between gasps for air.

Debbie was still lying on the floor crying. (In a way, I was glad she wasn’t paying attention. She’s notorious for asking overweight people if they’re pregnant.)

“I’ve been…I’ve been…,” said the security guard as he tried to catch his breath. He shook his head, bent over a bit and put his hands on his knees. He then stood up straight and said, “I’ve been trying …trying to get that little furry bastard for two weeks.”

“Can you help me up? Please get this thing off my hand. My back is killing me. Just grab the trap and pull and I‘ll…”

“No, no, no,” he interrupted. “I don’t want to accidentally set that…that bastard free by pulling on that there trap. I‘ve got a plan.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast! What the heck is your plan?”

“I’m gonna kill that little …little rat bastard.”

“Don’t curse! ‘Bastard’ is a bad word!” Debbie shouted, suddenly back in control of her emotions. She scrambled to her feet, jumped between me and the security guard and said, “If you want to kill my kitty, you’ll have to kill me first!”

“Step out of the way, little girl! I don’t want you to get hurt! I’m about do something that I should have done when I first saw that stupid rat. Now, move!” The security guard then reached inside his jacket, pulled out a gun and pointed it at Debbie.

To Be Continued