Try The Butcher

Every now and again, when the mood takes him, my male staff plucks Badger and I from our cage and places us on a pile of old towels on the front seat of his car for a day at the reverse people smuggling office. He's learned from long and bitter experience that his driving scares the bush chocolate out of us, and other more liquid stuff too. So when the car started to stink of things other than himself he decided to use the towels. Personally I think it's a bit demeaning, but I don't seem to have much of a say in the matter.

The worse thing about it is that we can't see out, so we've no idea what we're about to hit, and rarely does a trip in the car with male staff end without us hitting something - police car, garbage truck, train, and once when we drove to the airport, a Boeing 737.

Boeing 737 after tangling with my male staff's Hyundai Getz at Brisbane airport

It was on the ground I hasten to add, and so was fair game. In my male staff's defence it is quite easy to take a wrong turn at Brisbane airport, perhaps not so easy to get onto the runway, but even then the police wouldn't have minded so much if he'd got clearance from the tower. Of course the other thing we hate about driving anywhere with my male staff is the noise. Firstly it's surprising how much of a racket  a Hyundai Getz makes at one hundred and ten kilometres per hour. I think this is because my male staff forgets that he isn't driving a car with automatic transmission and leaves it in first gear the whole way. Secondly he likes to listen to Parliamentary Question Time on the radio and the language and abuse is appalling. Not so much from the MPs themselves but from my male staff as he yells rude words at the radio.

It's a little better when we finally get to the office as it is full of human females, so he is usually on his best behaviour in case one of them reports back to my female staff. Once there we're are free to run around on the carpet. It's a big office so there are plenty of places to explore and plenty of female toes to nibble, which usually leads to a very satisfying squeal. In fact if we bite the ladies toes in the correct order, their differing squeals can make a recognisable tune. For example - Pat, Pat, Rosemary, Julie, Rosemary, Pat, Gill, Jodie, Jodie, Rosemary, Charlee, Kelly, Kelly, Julie, Pat, Kelly, Kay, Rosemary, Rosemary, Kay, male staff - yields a passable rendition of "The Wind Beneath My Wings".

There are cables to chew too and this activity often elicits further squeals as the lady's computer screen goes blank, followed by a string of very unladylike language which is frequently and quite unjustifiably very uncomplimentary to rodents and also my male staff for introducing us to the office in the first place. "Sucking guinea pigs!" Seems to be a common expression at such times, though it's hard to hear exactly what is been said from floor level. I don't know what they mean. I have never sucked anything in my life. Badger has of course - when he lost his teeth. Here's a little reminder of that episode for newcomers to my blog. http://pemery.blogspot.com.au/2012/03/badger-sucks.html

 Anyway, it's their own fault. The trouble with female humans is that they tend to eat the same sort of stuff that we do. This makes under their desks the ideal post lunch foraging spot. Among the screwed up bits of paper and stinky discarded shoes there are often stray bits of lettuce and shredded carrots. Beetroot too if we're really lucky, though when we have the red juice staining the fur around our mouths it can give us a rather bloodthirsty, carnivorous appearance. Still all this adds to the fun when clients come through the door wanting to be reverse smuggled to Bali or Fiji. They probably don't expect to be met by a couple of guinea pigs who for all intents and purposes appear to have recently devoured a wildebeest. Most of the clients are very nice and some even give quite a good foot massage. We often sit on their laps while their smuggling arrangements are being made by either the ladies or or male staff. We do get one or two odd clients and then I tend to sit on my male staff's desk, glaring and rumbling at them, and occasionally flicking bush chocolate in their direction. Some of them are incapable of making a decision about when or where they want to be smuggled. Here's a conversation from a couple of days ago.

Male staff:     "Good morning, please take a seat. How can I help you?"
Large Lady:   "I'd like to have a holiday."
Male staff:      "Excellent. Where do you think you'd like to go?"
Large Lady:   "I think maybe Europe, or Africa, or maybe America, though possibly Asia or Fiji."
Male staff     (Stifling a sigh.) "Okay. What sort of budget do you have?"
Large Lady   "Oh, anything from from a thousand dollars to twenty thousand."
Male staff     "How about a European River cruise? That would be about fifteen thousand with your flights."
Large Lady   "Fifteen thousand! That's far too much! Do you think I'm a millionaire?"
Male staff     (Stifling a slightly less stifled sigh.) Okay. Then let's start with what time of year you'd like to travel."
Large Lady  "Well, any time between April and the end of September would be fine."
Male staff    "Great. The beginning of September is the perfect time to visit Africa."
Large Lady  "Don't be ridiculous. That's far too late. I need a holiday before that."
Male staff     (Barely stifling a sigh at all.) "June is very nice in Fiji and it's very inexpensive."
Large Lady  "Fiji! Why the hell would I want to go to Fiji? Look this is hopeless. Isn't there a more competent travel agent I can talk to?"
Male staff    "Well, you could try the butcher next door. I'm sure he'll tell you where to go."

BADGER'S FOOTNOTE
I'm glad I don't have to wear shoes. I wouldn't want my feet to be as stinky as the ladies' in the office.