"Twelve dollars for the rat, sir," says the shop owner, "and a thousand dollars more for the story behind it."
"You can keep the story, old man," he replies, "but I'll take the rat." The transaction complete, the tourist leaves the store with the bronze rat under his arm. As he crosses the street in front of the store, two live rats emerge from a sewer drain, and fall into step behind him. Nervously looking over his shoulder, he begins to walk faster, but every time he passes another sewer drain, more rats come out and follow him.
By the time he's walked two blocks, at least a hundred rats are at his heels, and people begin to point and shout. He walks even faster, and soon breaks into a trot as multitudes of rats swarm from sewers, basements, vacant lots, and abandoned cars. Rats by the thousands are at his heels, and as he nears the Jacques Cartier bridge, he panics and starts to run full tilt. No matter how fast he runs, the rats keep up, squealing hideously, now not just thousands, but millions, so that by the time he reaches the bridge, a trail of rats twelve city blocks long is behind him.
Making a mighty leap, he climbs up onto the rail, grasping with one arm while he hurls the bronze rat into the Saint Lawrence with the other, as far as he can heave it. Sitting down and clinging to the railing, he watches in amazement as the seething tide of rats surges over the bridge, into the river, where they drown.
Shaken and mumbling, he makes his way back to the antique store.
"Ah, so you've come back for the rest of the story," says the owner.
"No," says the tourist. "I was wondering if you have a bronze Separatist."