another "rat-like thing"

"I like your rat," I enthused politely to the group of rough and rugged men carrying posters. It seemed like a good introduction to conversation.
A man named Larry with a sun-weathered face and a tattoo on his forearm stepped forward to tell me all about it. He and his fellow union buddies have caught my eye every time I drove past the Norfolk bridge detour on the way to Madrid. But today was different: I couldn't pass by without inquiring about their hard-to-miss inflatable mascot. Its very presence begged explanation. It looked rabid. And there was a painting of something that looked like molten lava on its stomach. Or maybe it was half-digested cheese. I was hard-pressed for any product it might advertise. (Rodent heartburn medication?)
Believe me, I got a friendly earful about the unfair treatment of our local union workers. Twice I inquired what the rat had to do with anything.
"They brought him over from Syracuse," Larry bragged as he leaned back and spread his leathery arms in sheer admiration . "It's a huge thing. All over the country, you know."
"Sooo...the town leaders are rats for treating you guys so badly?
"Yeah, yeah. That's right. They're rats!" He beamed in satisfaction.
They invite people to honk in passing to show support for our local union workers. I honked as I drove away just because I liked the rat.