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Dead Rat Society
Mar. 10th, 2008 09:28 pmAs ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
caseopaya reported, Rogue the rat died today. It was an incredibly tranquil demise; he spent his final hours resting on her lap, his breathing increasingly shallow and with greater intervals until, at 2.21pm, they simply stopped. There was no pain, no struggle, no fighting for precious moments. It was like he wasn't even aware of his own death; he simply faded away slowly and peacefully, receiving scritches as he went. He'd been taken to the vet the day before who trimmed his teeth a little, gave him a shot of steriods and provided some high protein food, but informed us that basically it was old age and not much could be done. He'd lived to an excellent 3 years 3 weeks (92 on the rat-years scale) and in the most recent months had given every indication that he was more than content with his long and very active life.
I remember collecting him as a youngster all those years ago. This tiny runt of pink-eyed white rodent scampered into view with the cheekiest countenance. The first night at home he lived up to his name escaping behind a bookcase. It would be the first on many head-shaking and sometimes worrying acts of mischief the little guy would get up to, as his sense of adventure far outweighed his otherwise quite acceptable intelligence. Getting into a knot-hole of tree and entering a (thankfully unused) hornet's nest; scampering up a palm tree until he suddenly realised he'd reached a height that he couldn't get safely down from (and later, doing the same on the tallest bookcase in the house); dashing under an 8 foot high wood and wire fence to end up face-to-face with a big ginger cat; getting drunk on champagne and falling off the mantle piece; and, perhaps most notoriously, splitting his head open whilst in a scuffle with our other rats.
Whilst not always as sociable as his brother Vagabond (his poor eyesight caused him to be a little scared of too many feet), he certainly had his charms, such as delighting locals in St Kilda on our evening walks as he insited on sitting on top of my beret like a pom-pom. He also had this most amusing trait of rolling on to his back to have his belly scritched, which from all accounts requires an incredible degree of trust from small animals. He was an affectionate, content and happy bundle of trouble to his very last.
Well, time for the burial. Nothing else to be done. Valedictions, Rogue.
caseopaya reported, Rogue the rat died today. It was an incredibly tranquil demise; he spent his final hours resting on her lap, his breathing increasingly shallow and with greater intervals until, at 2.21pm, they simply stopped. There was no pain, no struggle, no fighting for precious moments. It was like he wasn't even aware of his own death; he simply faded away slowly and peacefully, receiving scritches as he went. He'd been taken to the vet the day before who trimmed his teeth a little, gave him a shot of steriods and provided some high protein food, but informed us that basically it was old age and not much could be done. He'd lived to an excellent 3 years 3 weeks (92 on the rat-years scale) and in the most recent months had given every indication that he was more than content with his long and very active life.I remember collecting him as a youngster all those years ago. This tiny runt of pink-eyed white rodent scampered into view with the cheekiest countenance. The first night at home he lived up to his name escaping behind a bookcase. It would be the first on many head-shaking and sometimes worrying acts of mischief the little guy would get up to, as his sense of adventure far outweighed his otherwise quite acceptable intelligence. Getting into a knot-hole of tree and entering a (thankfully unused) hornet's nest; scampering up a palm tree until he suddenly realised he'd reached a height that he couldn't get safely down from (and later, doing the same on the tallest bookcase in the house); dashing under an 8 foot high wood and wire fence to end up face-to-face with a big ginger cat; getting drunk on champagne and falling off the mantle piece; and, perhaps most notoriously, splitting his head open whilst in a scuffle with our other rats.
Whilst not always as sociable as his brother Vagabond (his poor eyesight caused him to be a little scared of too many feet), he certainly had his charms, such as delighting locals in St Kilda on our evening walks as he insited on sitting on top of my beret like a pom-pom. He also had this most amusing trait of rolling on to his back to have his belly scritched, which from all accounts requires an incredible degree of trust from small animals. He was an affectionate, content and happy bundle of trouble to his very last.
Well, time for the burial. Nothing else to be done. Valedictions, Rogue.
