That's right everybody, my first Subway Buddy is a rat. Actually, it's an honor. This has to be the absolute most adorable rat you have ever seen in your life in New York City. I mean just LOOK at it. The poor thing. I'm sure it was poisoned. Look at it lying there, it looks as though it had it's self a heart attack. Why are we so cruel?
We are killing enough animals out there. The oil spill killing millions each day, our pollution killing off endangered species, and now killing innocent little rats!
Okay, I know what you are thinking. Lily's insane. Rats are disgusting. Rats leave me nightmares, poop on my rug, eat my brownies, but can you say that after looking at this innocent rat? Poisoned by your screams? It's cute. It's dead. It's sad!
The rats name was Billy. He was the class clown. He liked to eat yogurt, and steal homeless men's money to buy himself a twix bar in the rat counter below the human deli. He would share it with his family. He was a good baby. Always slept when told to. Always read in bed. Always ate the cheese, put the ketchup on the hamburgers. The ants. The cockroaches. But one day, one day, his mother died. And he was lost in a sea of desperation. He cried. And cried. And ran into the tracks of the subway and by accident licked the pole of poison. And then he died, the next day.
So all you rat haters. Feel for poor Billy. Feel for his friends and family. Who not only are grieving for the loss of his mother, but for the loss of him. And now. Whenever you see a rat, think of Billy before you scream. Think of Billy before you kill off his family tree. He is watching you. Baby Billy is watching.