Sun, 02 Oct 2005 20:47:07
Ratblogging…a series revisted. Again.
One of my rats, the mother of all the others, has a very large growth down by her privates and she’s going in tomorrow to determine if it’s a tumor or megacolon. No, I don’t care that people say it’s ridiculous and expensive to do surgery on them...they’re my pets and I love them. Especially this one. She’s the mother of all the others and extremely personable and friendly.
Most people would never know it, but rats are very much like cats mixed with dogs when it comes to personality. They can tend to themselves if need be, and they behave like cats as far as grooming, sleeping, play, etc. but when they hear or smell you, they act like little dogs, begging for treats and attention and licking your fingers, etc. They have a version of purring called “bruxing” where they grind their teeth in a rhythm that sounds a lot like a cat’s purr...they do it when they’re happy or content.
Diana, the one who is going in tomorrow, is also claustrophobic to a certain extent. Unusual for a rat, most rats love tiny spaces. She can only tolerate enclosed spaces if she is either with one of us or she knows she’s got the whole cage to raom in. She chooses mostly open space in which to sleep, but she’ll use the little plastic house sometimes. But put her in the “rehab cage” (a 20gal long tank with a screened lid) and she flips out. She hates the lack of room. She’ll get more and more agitated until you take her out. Unfortunately for her...since there is someone already in the rehab cage...I had to get a second one tonight in preperation. It’s a 10 gallon. She’s going to be so pissed when she gets her strength back after the surgery (if she has it). Even more pissed if it’s just megacolon, since there won’t be any surgery, just a pissed off, fully alert and mobile rat who hates small places. This is her, the one looking up into the camera:
She’s snuggled up with one of her daughters, Jo. Which reminds me...I never did explain the naming convention.
First we got Minerva. So named because I thought it was funny to say Minnie the Rat instead of Minnie the Mouse. She’s gone now. When we found out that you have to have companionship for them, we went back the next day to get another, and Diana was the most outgoing. Roman name, personality fit...bingo. Diana was pregnant.
We didn’t know.
So here we are with nine babies and no way to denote boys or girls for a week or two. But they had markings after a few days, so we started naming them based on the marks on their backs. T was named for the distinct T shape. Tom was named because he had a lightning bolt, and that symbol played heavily in Joe Versus The Volcano...where Tom Hanks played Joe. Jo was named after the same character because she too had a lightning bolt. F was named after his F, Candy because her blob looked like a piece of candy, one was originally named Jellybean for obvious reasons, but when she turned brown we started calling her Brownie and that stuck. Rose was named because her unique side markings looked a lot like folded rose petals when she was little. The ones not named after marks were the runt of the little, whom we hand-fed until he was big enough to scrap for food himself...we named him Balboa because he was a little fighter. he’s not the biggest rat ever. Well, not ever, but he’s approaching two pounds, which is huge for this bloodline! The other not named for a marking was Jeri. Named after Jeri Ryan, who played Seven of Nine on Star Trek Vioyager. See, Jeri was the seventh we named of nine total babies...get it?
Yeah, it’s hokey, so what. Shut up. You probably have a poodle named Fluffy. ;)
If you read this far...clearly you get loving your pet and you’ll understand this part: T has become the special care case. Rats are generally quiet. Movies and TV would lead you to think they squak and chitter all day, but they really don’t. Some say they can communicate verbally in a range we can’t hear, and I have seen then stare at each other, mouths silently moving, then move off and do stuff. So I guess it’s true. But when they play, they will squeak and chitter, mostly low and quiet, but loud if the play gets too rough. It’s a signal that says “Hey, you’re going too far. This is playtime, not fuck me up time.”
Well, about 7 or 8 weeks ago, I heard a loud, completely out-of-proportion screaming screech from the boy cage. So loud I heard it through my in-ear headphones over the music that was playing. I ran over to see what was up and there was T, at the bottom of the cage, not moving. His brother Tom was standing over him and I saw blood. I assumed Tom had bit him too hard.
Nope. T fell off the top ledge and smashed his spine against the edge of one of the shelves. He’s now paralyzed from the middle of his back to his tail. Basically paralysed from the waste down. Partially, though...he’s recovering a lot of movement and motion, and he just might walk again...although as he gets up to two years old and beyond, the window for recovery versus natural aging closes...rats don’t live much past two-ish. T now lives in the rehab tank full-time as he can’t move unless he drags himself by the front feet. Which he does. A lot. He’s actually really mobile for someone who can’t move his hind end. He tears up his tank when he’s bored and wants our attention. He knows we’ll come over and coo and cluck over him while we fix it back up. He does water therapy too (at the vet’s suggestion), although he refuses to kick the back feet anymore in the water. He just floats and look up at us like “What the fuck? Water? Really? Is this necessary?”
Basically we have to groom him, since he can’t get to a lot of the stuff he would normally groom. Also, rats groom each other, but odds are the boys would team up to beat up on him and that could end up killing him. So we’re his groomers now. We brush him with a toothbrush, bathe him in the tub, wipe him down with baby wipes, clip his back claws, wipe his pee and poop holes to keep them clean...all the little things you’d have to do for a person who couldn’t do for themselves. Look at that face! How could you not love the boy.
His physical therapy now consists of us holding him up under his front arms until he gets irritated and starts to struggle. As he struggles, often his back half gets the message and starts to move as well. It’s uncoordinated for now, but the more he does this, the vet says, the better the chances that he’ll re-learn how to make those areas move at will. He’s starting to try to pump his legs when there is weight on them as well, so eventually he’ll figure out how to push off of them and walk forward. He may never get back to normal, but if he could stand up and clean himself...that’d be good enough for me.
Yeah...I know. “But Jim, it’s a rat!” No...he’s my pet. When he looks up at me and starts licking my hand to groom me in return...I know it’s worth taking care of him. He showers us with affection and he knows we’re helping him. They’re a hell of a lot smarter than you’d think. More affectionate too.
In case you haven’t noticed...I’m a sucker for the furry things big and small. Don’t worry...I’m not going vegan. I’d eat T if I was crashed in the Andes and he was all I had. Hell, I’d eat one of *you* just as fast. Meat may be murder, but as they say...murder tastes good. However...when I get the chance, I like to be around and take care of furry things. They’re gonna be around anyway, they might as well have a good life full of care and comfort while they’re here.
Posted by JimK at 08:47 PM on October 02, 2005
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One hopes you’d consider eating T first!
It’s weird, but a few years ago I wouldn’t have considered rats a pet people doted on. I figured maybe people might buy one if they were kinda weird and wanting to complete their image of science nerd. But you’re not even the only person I read of that loves their rat-babies, and the more I know, the cuter they seem.
Heh… I’ve got the first volume of an Amerimanga called “Peach Fuzz"… it’s about owning a ferret, not rats, but it has the same sense of addictive pet ownership.