I have two short stories being published in a children's anthology later this year. One, titled The Great Cheddar Chase, features a rascally rat called Ratho. Now, while he is a grey rat, he is descended from the Lord Howe Island black rats who swam ashore and caused havoc after the ship S.S. Makambo ran aground in 1918. He escaped to the mainland while being taken for study. Ratho's great mission in life is to constantly evade being captured by the famous Persian cat detective, Ah Fur. And he does this very successfully. I have always had a bit of affinity for domestic rats, the pet kind. And bush rats, Rattus Fuscipes, the nocturnal Australian rat. I have a puppet, Ratty, who is of the Rattus Fuscipes line. Thinks that he is actually a lot smarter than he is. But Ratho is another rat entirely, and will feature in an upcoming series of short stories titled The Cat Chronicles. Will he ever be caught? And what will transpire when he joins his cousin Rodney the Scrap Rat, who only uses the finest trash cast-offs in his cafe? Can Ratho be trusted? Do I smell a rat? Perhaps the poor rodent is misjudged. Or is he?