The political crowd rushed to view the killed rodents.
“Why, this is my wife!” exclaimed Mayor Bull as he pointed to the dead female rodent, the judge. “What was she doing here?”
A candidate whispered, “Your unfaithfulness drove your wife to this madness. It’s too late.”
The court clerk tapped the mayor’s shoulder. “I was just talking to Judge Bull, your spouse. She fell hard for one of these three rodents.”
“It’s my fault. Everything is my fault. My list of paramours is too long. But I’ll make up for it.”
“How? Your wife is very dead and will just rot.”
“She’ll be immortalized with these three dead rodents.
What are their names again?” asked the mayor.
“Atty. Doe, Atty. User and Atty. Mad. They’re lawyers,” said the clerk. “That’s how Judge Bull met them.”
“My power will posthumously incorporate these four rodents. A mausoleum will house their honorable bones.”
“I have an idea,” said the clerk. “Use taxpayers’ money for a roach-proof cemetery that would bear their names.”
“As usual, my dear, you’re the greatest. I promise you’ll get the job of my departed wife today. Justice can’t wait.”
“You promised me a higher position.”
“In a week, my dear. We’ll have time to find your qualifications. If we can’t find them, we’ll make them.”
The clerk thought, “Yeah, yeah, promises, promises. I know how politics works!”
Mayor and clerk walked away throwing a kiss at the dead rodents and holding back their glee.
Thus, it has come to pass. In a modern day and age, throngs of tourists grace an awesome scene. Mayor Bull kept his promise.
The cemetery bears the initials of the four rodents: “In Memory of The Honorable Dumb, Inc., a Law Corporation.”
“But all rodents are born equal, and rodents no longer cannibalize.”
“Not all you hear is true. Not all you see is real.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Those biggest rats use godly magic to forage their loot and butcher moles, Son.”
“Wow, they must be very intelligent like rodent gods!”
“No. Magic is deception or trickery and wild fun—their fun for wealth and glory by vilifying—mostly the moles.”
“Mom, I thought that ‘the good old boys’ network,’ means that those big rats are good and old, and all rodents should live free from fear of them.”
“They’re good in their magic, Son.”
“We learn in school that our rodent heroes give their lives for our freedom.”
“True. But those bad big rats terrorize our land for their loot and impede our rodent dreams. They live
amongst us, that’s our very big problem—while our heroes valiantly fight outside.”
“Mom, is there hope for redemption?”
“Yes. Those bad rats are dead, dying or senile. Their magic should die and disappear with them.”
“But they must have descendants who will be like them.”
“Never prejudge, Son. It’s very, very unfair to prejudge.
We hope for the best for our rodent land. Our heroes would not have fought in vain.”