| Vinitha Jayan Menon | January 2026 | Flash Fiction |
The soft squeaks had gone unnoticed for days, and understandably so. Our home was a symphony of mechanical life: the air purifier hummed its devotion to clean living, the air conditioner exhaled in long, contented sighs, and the microwave announced its victories with that authoritative ding! of self-importance. The blender and mixer often joined in with their brief, violent performances, leaving the house buzzing with red, blue, yellow and green lights. These were signals that declared, it’s just another normal day in the world.
Until, normal, it wasn’t.
Hazel was the first to notice something amiss. Her ears stood tall, her gaze sharpened to a hunter’s gleam, and she began moving in slow, deliberate steps – the kind that promised drama. Normally, Hazel’s “alert mode” meant something deeply suspicious, like a fallen breadcrumb or the distant whiff of chicken curry. So naturally, nobody paid much attention. She tiptoed around the room sniffing corners, pausing dramatically, tail wagging in slow motion.
But then Hope perked up.
Now that was serious. The true guardian of the household, she had the temperament of a retired army general with unresolved business. Her bark could make intruders question their life choices, and sometimes make the neighbors question ours.
She suddenly charged toward the cupboard, barking with righteous fury. Hazel followed, her movements more contemplative, her expression solemn, as though offering moral support rather than muscle. Or post-war snacks!
Under the cupboard, two tiny eyes gleamed back. Round, shiny, and much too confident for their own good: unblinking, defiant, and very much alive. Hope’s bark hit a new frequency known only to dogs and unfortunate neighbors. Within seconds, our neighbor, on yet another important work call, stuck his head out of his balcony and groaned,
“Please! I’m on a call!”
I gave him my best ‘we’d love to be normal too’ smile and then turned back to the unfolding chaos. For good measure, I glared at Hope, who ignored me completely, her focus on the intruder.
The dogs stared. The eyes in the darkness stared back.
“Come out, and I’ll show you,” growled Hope.
“Come in here if you can,” squeaked the unseen voice.
At this point, one of us (the braver one who ventured to have a closer look) announced, “It’s a rat!” The other, far more practical, refused to enter the kitchen and ordered food instead. Pest control was called somewhere between panic and disbelief.
Meanwhile, the Rat, new to the premises and already accused of multiple crimes, watched the commotion unfold with what could only be described as frustration.
The owner of those shiny eyes, now officially christened Rat, had rather disconcerted thoughts. It had moved in with modest dreams such as crumbs, quiet corners, maybe a life free from cats and snakes. But apparently, this was no ordinary flat. It came with two canine security guards, one high-strung human, and another who negotiated stress by ordering chole bhature. Settling down in the darkness the cupboard rendered, it wondered, Honestly, people, I just arrived. Must you make it so personal?
In the meantime, panic seemed to be heading for an all-time high when one of the humans (me) screamed, “I need to check if it chewed my silk sarees!” “Or my cables!” the other human joined. The humans in the flat were losing it as they fretted over silk sarees and electrical cables.
In the meantime, the dogs barked themselves into exhaustion, and Rat, sensibly, stayed put.
Finally, the situation reached its logical human conclusion: evacuation. It was decided to hand over the flat to pest control. Rather ceremoniously, the humans packed their bags, leashed the dogs, and booked a two-day “recovery retreat.”
Hope marched to the car with the air of a decorated officer, a tad disappointed. Hazel, calm and reflective, followed quietly, probably wondering if this meant she’d finally get chicken for dinner.
Back in the now-silent flat, the rat emerged cautiously, surveyed its kingdom, and sighed in blissful solitude.
Finally. Peace. Until dawn.
It took a rat to get the humans out, the dogs a vacation, and the pest control guy a bonus.
Not bad for one night’s work.
Two days later, when pest control proudly declared the flat “rat-free,” a small shape slipped through the drainpipe, whiskers twitching in triumph.
In every city, there’s always at least one creature that truly learns to live rent-free.
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Vinitha Jayan Menon is a learner (professionally titled “teacher”) and writer based in Bangalore, India, who finds humor in the everyday chaos of life. From apartment squabbles to unexpected visitors of the rodent kind, she writes about these moments as and when they happen, capturing life’s absurdities with warmth and wit. An organic enthusiast, she makes her own soaps, shampoos, and hair oils, and scents her stories with the same earthy charm. When not baking or unwinding with adult coloring, she is at work on a collection of lighthearted tales about community living, pets, and people being delightfully themselves.
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Photo by iStrfry , Marcus on Unsplash
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