Cheddar the Mighty & the Quest for the Grody Grail

By Nichole Celauro

His journey had been long and treacherous, but Cheddar had found it. An oasis, untouched by man, vast and plentiful. The wasteland of legends. A sprawling pile of rotten garbage more beautiful than all the dumpsters in Manhattan the day after Thanksgiving.

The Great Trash Barrier Island.

Cheddar the Rat wept at its filthy glory.

His stomach growled as he disembarked his raft—a ripped and stained floral mattress—and shook stuffing from his mangy fur.

Rusty cans crunched beneath his paws. The island sloshed and swayed. Although the sea vanished beneath the junk, the tippy tops of the skyline were still visible. Had a subway tunnel rat ever come this far before? When he returned, he’d regale his litter with the splendor of Trash Island. Oh, how this wonderful fetid lump tempted him to dive in, whiskers first!

But Cheddar had a mission.

He sought the Grody Grail.

Elder rats had called him a fool when Cheddar nuzzled his mate and pups goodbye and started on his quest. But finding the fabled Grail—that double-super-sized Big Gulp stuffed with an entire foot long sub—would ensure his family survived the winter. He’d be a hero.

Cheddar stood on his hind legs, balanced on a teetering, semi-disintegrated sneaker, and sniffed the air. Decay. Plastic. Oil. Sulfur. Soiled meats. Moldy bread. Mountain Dew. Provolone.

The heavens beamed down upon Trash Island. Cheddar rubbed his beady eyes, praying it was no mirage. Yet there it sat, only a few yards away, gleaming in the sunshine: The Grail.

Squawk!

The fur along Cheddar’s spine rose.

High above, the beast circled. Sleek. Steely. Black, white, and ravenous.

Seagull.

Cheddar’s tail tucked between his legs. A cowardly instinct. But he couldn’t run. To go back now, defeated, would mean his family would have to leave the tunnels in shame.

No. Cheddar was no mouse.

The Grail beckoned him in the distance.

He bolted forward.

The gull’s wings flapped like death’s applause.

Cheddar dug his claws into a patch of bottle caps. A mistake. The fragile pile parted under his weight, revealing water beneath it, and dumped him rump first into the sea.

Cheddar scrambled to stay above water. He bit hard on what might have been a belt and pulled. The cold ocean soaked his fur, dragging him toward the depths. His teeth throbbed.

Can’t drown now!

Cheddar gritted his jaw and yanked himself up with a wild kick. He released the belt and perched on a deflated basketball, wiggling off salty droplets. Safe. Cheddar sucked in a relieved breath, and the sky’s hell spawn descended upon him.

White feathers. Soulless eyes. The seagull dove, wickedness gleaming on its beak. Cheddar leapt sideways, but his soggy fur slowed him down. The nasty spear caught him, slicing away the fur on his flank.

The seagull pinched Cheddar’s tail in its beak and flapped. A sharp pain jerked through his backside, then Cheddar’s paws flailed above the trash.

Wind bristling through his whiskers, Cheddar growled and latched his teeth into the beast’s leg. The gull screeched, releasing him.

His body slammed against smooth plastic, and a searing pain shot through his chest.

The gull circled, cackling, anxious for another bite of fresh meat.

Whiskers stiffening, Cheddar rose. He grappled with the rounded surface, his nails scraping but unable to grip the hard plastic. His chest ached as he struggled to breathe.

But wait.

That scent…

Salami.

Dew.

Looking down, Cheddar squeaked at the chipped red and white letters beneath his claws: IG GUL. He inhaled. The savory scent of putrid meat and stale bread had never been so delicious. Using his tail to grip the cup’s rim, Cheddar swung himself inside. His snout crashed into the decomposing sandwich, green and black, salty and moist, hot from the sun.

Victory! This was it! The Grody Grail!

Oh, the majesty!

The Grail trembled.

Jamming its fat head through the opening, the seagull thrashed and cawed. Its hooked beak snapped over and over, nibbling Cheddar’s fur.

The rat backed further into the Grail, seeking refuge in the squishy sandwich. The damned bird was relentless! If rats could perspire, Cheddar would be sweating like a drainage pipe. Under all the aches and pains, his tiny heart raced. His vicious enemy continued defiling the Grail, poking holes in it with its beak.

As the Grail shook, the squeaks of his pups seemed to echo in Cheddar’s ears. Small, hungry mouths opened expectantly to him, needing, trusting. He wouldn’t fail them.

Cheddar hissed and scratched, catching the monster’s eye with his claw. It shrieked, retreating. But that was no surrender.

Cheddar rolled from the Grail, plopping into a jumble of sharp, shredded plastic. He could see his mattress—salvation bobbing right where he’d left it. Both he and the Grail could fit inside its many tears. But first, he had a score to settle.

Feathers for fur.

This time, when the bird torpedoed downward, Cheddar yanked his weapon from the scraps of plastic and aluminum. The rat wielded the six-pack-rings like a cowboy, lassoing the nose-diving gull around its stubby neck.

The seagull tumbled into a tangle of fishing line and hooks. The rusty iron tore its glossy feathers. The sea bubbled up. The bird flapped and pecked, unable to escape. Cheddar watched it struggle without remorse. The bird’s weight broke through the patch of rubbish and it sank, dragged down by a rotted boot. The barbarian’s final squawk came out as only a gurgle.

There would be more of them. There always were. If Cheddar was ever going to feel the sweet cuddles of his mate and litter again, he needed to move. Now.

Rat with wings. What a stupid human-ism. Seagulls, the honorless thieves, did not deserve such a moniker.

Cheddar the Mighty climbed back into the sanctuary of the Grail. He pushed with all his strength until the cup moved, then his little legs were running, rolling the Grail to the mattress raft that would take him home.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nichole Celauro lives in Philadelphia with her husband, two cats, and a handful of ghosts. Her work has been published by Flash Fiction Magazine, Alban Lake Publishing, and Owl Hollow Press. When not writing, she’s reading, and hosts the erotica review podcast the Kinky Ladies Book Club. Her parents are very proud.

---

Facebook | Instagram