12 x 12 - PDF to Podcast
Published on Oct 09, 2026
Description:
Before we start, a quick note. Tonight's episode is a work of fiction — a short story called "Erma & Max: Being Little in the Big City," written by Bernard J. Peters. Every character you're about to meet is invented, from the rabbits to the rats to the cat. Nothing here is reporting, and no real animals were consulted.I'm Nora Vance, and this is the show where we read stories about the creatures living in the parts of the city we never look at. Tonight we're going underground.
And I'm Sam Okafor. Our story comes to us from Bernard J. Peters and is dated October 2026.
I'll say this up front, Sam: I fell for these two rabbits embarrassingly fast.
You also fell for a rat. We'll get there.So here's the setup. Erma and Max were a rarity, because they were rabbits who lived in the city. Their home was the dirt basement of a tenement building, reached through a small hole where a brick had come loose years before.
Warm in the winter thanks to a noisy boiler nearby, cool and damp in the summer.
And the neighborhood was known as the Chinese section, where dumpsters sit behind restaurant after restaurant. Which matters, because those dumpsters supplied all the food an urban rabbit could ever want. Things, the story says, were pretty good.
It's a very practical kind of magic, isn't it? Home, heat, and an endless buffet, all within a few hops.
But it wasn't always that good. Erma and Max had to reach an agreement first — with Vinnie the Rat, the Capo de Capo of the neighborhood.
Ruling, with his rodent gang, over everything with at least four legs. Dogs, cats, raccoons — all of them knew better than to use the rats' turf.
Dogs who lived in the tenement would look right and left before stepping out the front door, and any outdoor cat soon disappeared altogether.
And what did Vinnie hate above all else?
Pigeons. With a passion unmatched in modern times. He believed they were a blight on the neighborhood, and his hatred of them was legendary.The legend goes like this: long before Erma and Max were born, a pigeon dropped something unspeakable directly onto Vinnie's head while he was giving a speech about territorial boundaries to his lieutenants. From that day on, pigeons were declared enemies of the neighborhood. Flying freeloaders, he called them — no respect for order, rules, or sanitation.
Which is, historically speaking, the fastest way to start a war.So here's the bargain. Vinnie and his rats would leave Erma and Max alone — no stolen carrots, no nighttime intimidation, no mysterious disappearances — as long as the rabbits kept the pigeon population under control.
How two rabbits were supposed to manage that was never fully explained. But Vinnie liked deals that sounded impossible, because impossible deals made him feel powerful.
Erma, the practical one, immediately began observing. Where the pigeons gathered, when they fed, what frightened them most.
Max, on the other hand, spent his time worrying. About the rats, the pigeons, the dogs, the weather — and especially about Erma, who had a habit of stepping forward when it might have been wiser to stay very still.
One evening, sitting near the warm boiler pipes, Max said, "They fly. We do not. That alone suggests the flaw in this arrangement."
And Erma replied, "Yes — but we are smarter." Which, the story admits, was not entirely true. But it was true enough.Their solution came by accident. One night, exploring a dumpster behind a noodle shop, they discovered a box of old, reflective takeout lids — thin, silver, and noisy when moved.
Erma dragged one across the pavement, and that terrible clatter sent a flock of pigeons exploding into the air in a frenzy of wings and feathers. The pigeons never forgot that sound.
Within weeks they'd learned to herd them. Never harming them — just startling, chasing them off roofs and ledges, keeping them unsettled and always moving.
Pigeons, it turns out, hated uncertainty almost as much as Vinnie hated pigeons. And true to his word, Vinnie kept the peace.
For a while.
Because neighborhoods change. Even underground ones.
A new threat arrived one summer: a sleek, well-fed cat named Duchess, who belonged to a woman on the third floor but belonged mostly to herself.
Quiet, patient, and with absolutely no respect for rodent hierarchies or rabbit treaties. She hunted for sport.
The rats panicked. The pigeons vanished entirely. Even Vinnie was forced to retreat deeper into the sewer tunnels, his authority shaken.
But Erma and Max noticed something. Duchess never ventured near the boiler room.
Max observed that she didn't like the noise. Erma added that she didn't like the heat. Together they came up with a plan far more dangerous than chasing pigeons.
So they went to see Vinnie. The meeting took place in a storm drain under the street, lit by a single flickering bulb — where else?
Vinnie listened while grooming his whiskers, his eyes narrow and calculating. "You want me," he said slowly, "to help rabbits protect rats from a cat."
"Yes," said Erma. "Why?" "Because if the cat stays, there won't be a neighborhood left to rule."
And here's the thing — Vinnie hated cats even more than he hated pigeons. So the plan went forward. The rats spread scraps and scents that lured Duchess toward the boiler room, at the same time the rabbits caused a tremendous clatter with their silver lids.
Sudden heat, noise, and chaos overwhelmed the cat. She fled in a fury, and she never returned.
One winter night, as snow piled high above their hidden entrance, Max asked, "Do you ever wish we lived somewhere else?" Erma thought for a long moment. "No," she said. "This is where we're needed."
From then on they became the unofficial protectors of the block — warning of dangers, settling disputes, making sure no creature, four-legged or winged, was treated unfairly.
The rats softened. The pigeons cautiously returned, this time with rules. Even the dogs learned to pass through without causing trouble.
Two small rabbits in a very big city, proving that even in the darkest corners, kindness, courage, and a little clever noise could keep the world turning just right.
A note on the author, since the story includes one. Bernard James Peters grew up in the Bronx, New York, where he says he acquired his extensive knowledge of rats, Vinnies, and rats named Vinnie.
It also mentions that as a young boy he suspected he was related to rabbits, especially after reading his first rabbit adventure. "Peter(s) Rabbit." Today, he enjoys reliving his youth with his younger brother Andrew and their authentic childhood pogo sticks.
Pogo sticks. Which explains a lot, honestly.
Before we go, the story leaves us with one last exchange. "Erma, I think I love you." "Max, I think I love you, too."
That's "Erma & Max: Being Little in the Big City" by Bernard J. Peters. Thanks for spending six minutes underground with us.
And remember — check the dumpsters behind the noodle shop. You never know who's running the neighborhood.