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Dead Rat Society
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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.
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I'd like to visit a universe where that sort of thing was attempted..
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And I agree about the cucumber. (Though I do have a terrible story involving an exploding cucumber, so maybe I should opt out.)
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And completely forgot about it.
One morning, we were woken (I was dating her at the time, as well, so we were in the same bed.) to some unknown sound. I could tell that it had been noise that had woken me, but it was too sudden and too subtle to identify. Then I heard what I thought was dripping water.
I got out about half of a sentence asking her what was going on when I was hit by the most gods-awful stench! I lept out of bed to find that the cucumber, which had been serenely resting on the fridge at the end of the bed, had in fact... exploded. Summer heat, a closed plastic bag -- and about three weeks -- gives you a turgid little sac of cucumber skin filled with molten, fetid cucumber juice. ...Which let go with enough force to temporarily blow open the bag and spray the vile juice across the nearby wall, which was now dripping -- stinking liquified cucumber slime.
So, I flung the bag out the window and closed the windows after it. We then spent the morning scrubbing the walls.
Anyway, as you might imagine, the story of this incident lived on in the fraternity for years. But the strangest part of all happened several years later. One day I was back visiting, at a party, and as a wizened alumnus was subjecting new Brothers to old stories, when much to my confusion, two of the older Brothers (who had heard this story many times) spontaneously formed a Greek chorus and began reiterating, elaborating, and embellishing for me, standing behind me and chanting. Let me reiterate: This was spontaneous; I didn't ask them to do it, they didn't have some plan, they just both decided at that moment that this old story needed a Greek Chorus.
And this is why I suggest every young pupil joins the fraternity system.
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all the best in this sad time.
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Im sorry, seriously, the down side of having Ratties is their short life span. this hurts, a lot!
*fires up a little candle for Rogue to find his way back to you both some how*
(can you tell I actually believe their little spirits can find us again? you bet! I never ignore those in-your-face signs)
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'Course they tend to ask me why I ever chose a hedgehog, but I regret nothing.
*hug* Sorry for the loss, man. And if anyone gives you a cheesy Rainbow Bridge metaphor, try to take it in stride.
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I don't mind the cheesy rainbow bridge metaphor. It creates a nice mental image.
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I know how much this hurts.. Love to you.
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Have you got a next generation?
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P.S. You could be a professional eulogy writer. Like whoa.
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