Her Luck Ran Out

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Lucky rat died today during surgery for a malignant tumor, aged 34.5 months (or around 85 in human years). Even if she had survived she had other tumors growing, so perhaps really it would be providing her but a scant few more months of quality living. It was a series of tragic events that led to her passing; her tumor went from the benign to malignant variety and grew quickly, but of course, she'd kept it hidden from us. Our usual vet was overseas, and the locum - unfamiliar with rodents - didn't feel confident enough to attempt surgery and spaetlese, who provided us the rat in the first place, was interstate. When we made the booking for Lort Smith it was further delayed by another week during the Easter break.

Lucky was so named because she had been earmarked as snake food, was rescued from such an event by spaetlese. Before she made it to us she had escaped her cage and had spent a couple of nights in a house with non-rat friendly cats. Having cheated death twice, she did lose a tip of her tail to a cage accident, but made it through that fine. She had also already gone through one tumor operation. Ever lithe of form, gregarious and curious of nature (yes, even on the rodent scale of things), I like to think that we provided her a happy life. But my parting moment as she looked up at me whilst holding my finger with her front paws is in burned into my memories forever. Farewell, Lucky.

Comments

[leo-sosnine.livejournal.com]

Well, we all are going to die and soon. On the bright side, this specimen had pretty decent life I suppose. I wonder how many of his brethren made this far.

[tcpip.livejournal.com]

I've become a hopelessly sensitive soul as I've aged, and even despair at the death of a murderer.

It is true that in the wild that a rat would be fortunate to live more than a year. At our place, they are in luxury. Still, the succession of events that led to her passing was frustrating and stressful.

[leo-sosnine.livejournal.com]

It is what it is, life is a suffering and the more you think about it the more you suffer. I've buried 5 dogs during my life and now can't have dogs because when i see a puppy with my eyes i see it dying with my mind's eye. It wasn't me who started all of this, I'm just forced to play this game by the rules that I didn't set.

So, from a happiness standpoint human being should not think much, especially about death, suffering of all kinds, diseases, etc. Plus, thinking much about this can impact socializing badly, nobody wants to be friends with a person who is always in sorrow.

[tcpip.livejournal.com]

Good words my friend. 'To live, to live well, to live better' is how Alfred North Whitehead paraphrased the purpose of human reason.

Five canine friends would have brought you a great deal of joy. I intend to have one day; at the moment our household of two rats, one rabbit, one guinea pig, and one cat will provide more than sufficient non-human companionship.