A murmur of approval.
The rats’ system was ruthless. Every night, they emerged. They gnawed the corners of lazy footnotes. They urinated on plagiarized paragraphs. They chewed the letter ‘C’ out of every keyboard belonging to a professor who gave participation trophies. If a student submitted a truly brilliant thesis, they would leave a single sunflower seed on the windowsill as a mark of silent approval. RATOS-A- DE ACADEMIA -
“They won’t listen,” El Jefe said bitterly. A murmur of approval
The rats held an emergency assembly inside the wall cavity of Lecture Hall D. Hundreds of them gathered, whiskers trembling. El Jefe banged a thimble for order. They gnawed the corners of lazy footnotes
“Excuse me,” Alba whispered. “Did you just grade my student’s paper?”
Alba, listening through the wall, coughed. “Or,” she said, “I could just present your work to the University Board.”
Not mice. Mice were timid, scatterbrained, and easily caught. Rats were survivors. Rats remembered. Rats held grudges.