I Said No More Rats

A dramatic trio of rodents.

We have 6 pets: the cat, two rabbits, and three rats. The rats were pandemic pets. (The first group, anyway. The three we have now are actually our second group.) We adopted three sisters the day they were able to leave their mom. The mom was nearly a baby herself — accidental pregnancy. We had one very old gal left and I sold husband on the cuteness and chance for a stronger bond compared to the older ladies from the first group. (Side note, the humane society full-on lied about their ages online. In 2020 they only adopted small animals sight unseen, so your only information was the online profiles. They said they were 6 months but they were really 18 months, giving us only a year with them.)

The babies were so tiny the day we brought them home to Maya.

They are stinking cute. Their names are Harriett, Billie, and Rosa. You can guess where we got the names.

I'm spending a lot of time in my bathroom lately. Sitting on a blanket on the floor, next to the rat litter box, while they crawl inside my hoodie or on my shoulders or groom each other or chase each other or try to chew the baseboards or stick their noses under the door gap. We don't have a playpen or other secure area for them, and they're active, so the bathroom (between the outside door and the inner door to the toilet) is perfect. Loud, from the fan, and not fully comfortable, but otherwise perfect. They get play time, bonding time, and the cat is excluded so they feel much safer than on the couch. Right now one of them is in my hoodie on my stomach wildly gritting her little teeth in happiness. They boggle a lot in here, too. It makes me so happy and I barely even notice the fan or the hard floor for the hour. It's time to go when they are falling asleep, stretched out flat on the floor, curled up in my hoodie, or sometimes even asleep on my shoulder.

A less comfortable way I would isolate the rats for playtime.

I love having a house full of pets. I love cleaning the rat cage and the rabbit boxes and rearranging their spaces to add interest and making hiding areas and when they seek my affection (which is everyone except one bunny, who hates me). The rats especially. I adore the way their little bodies feel both lithe and round in my hands, how they wrap their tails around my finger or chin for balance, how they fling themselves up my legs or chest to climb to a better spot, how they let me cuddle them and the way they protest kisses on their heads and bellies. I don't know why, but their protests are my favorite. They dramatically thrust their whole hands, which are just tiny human hands, on our lips and push us away with their itty bitty might.

Billie on her first birthday!

There's only one downside: We miss travel. Now that it doesn't make me sick with stress, leaving for any length of time is an unfair burden. Even with a trusted friend a few blocks away and a pet sitting service I like, it's still not fair to leave the rats in cages or the cat uncuddled for more than a day. So we don't travel unless we have to. And that's meant work and weddings only. Plus, one of us has to be home every 12 hours to give the cat a pill, so even leaving for a day or having evening plans requires an almost parent level of coordination. I can't be spontaneous (though that's almost a non-issue with the friend group) or go with the flow. Which is OK. I would rather not travel right now. Even if I miss it. I'm allowed to recognize the downsides in the choices I make.

They live in a top of the line cage with lots of hiding places and newspaper to shred to bits.

Everyone is around the same point in their respective lifecycles. Chloe is 18. The rabbits are both around 7 or 8. And the rats are turning 2 in February. Husband and I have talked a lot about taking a pet break to travel. We still want to go to New Zealand (the honeymoon we never had) and at this point want at least three weeks. We want to road trip to national parks. We've talked about Germany and Tanzania and Japan and Chile.  We want to do big trips before we feel like being mostly home again for a while. So I promised, no more rats.

I made a dig box and sprouted barley for a fun playtime activity.

Last weekend, in the bathroom, Billie was hanging out in my hoodie for a while. She pretty much only does that at the end of the hang when she's sleepy, and even then she'd rather stretch out on the tile. Billie is the independent spirit of the trio. She'll test limits, stick her nose in things, chew or pull at anything, and explore wherever she damn well pleases if I'm not watching. Which is why we're in the bathroom. Being that chill for no reason isn't like her. That's when I noticed her face looked odd. It was like her cheekbone was jutting out on the left side. I felt it and it was hard, like her skull. But only on that one side. I looked at Harriet and Rosa and they both had perfectly round rat faces. So this was new. I took her to the vet today worried about an abscess or tooth issue, expecting to need x-rays or surgery.

The vet inspected her and said, "oh Billie girl, I haven't seen this in a while." 

Just look at those whiskers. Criminally cute.

This vet loves rats. In our visits over the last couple of years she's taken a few extra seconds each exam for a cuddle. She's all business with the rabbits but adores the rats. I didn't want to hear her say that, especially in that resigned tone that says there's nothing we can do. The tumor is in an inoperable location next to her ear and eye. It will keep growing outward, eventually looking cauliflower-y. It's not malignant and it's not painful, though it will get uncomfortable as it grows. She told me about a couple that had a whole family of rats with this kind of tumor a few years ago. They tried all sorts of treatments hoping something would reduce the size of the tumors. But one by one they all eventually had to be euthanized. She said they kept some of them longer than was probably right. This vet was alone with me when I had to euthanize my girl Ruth unexpectedly, I'm sure she remembers that. (Interestingly, Ruth and Billie would have been kindred spirits.)

Rats are just really small puppies. You can't change my mind.

The vet then remarked on how healthy Billie is. Other than barbering, which they all do to each other relentlessly, they're the picture of health. No mammary tumors, even, which is almost a guarantee with female rats. Then I said, "well they're only 22 months." She kind of paused. The average lifespan for rats is about two years. She said she saw one once who was 4 (my Tux was just over 3, and was quite old at that point). She couldn't give me an answer to how fast the tumor will grow. I think, and hope, that we'll have a great celebration in February, when they turn 2. But all three won't be making it to their third birthday. The vet sent me home with antibiotics just in case it's some extremely aggressive ear infection ("it can't hurt").

Billie's chicken legs - bare from barbering.

So, there are two downsides to a house full of pets. I said no more rats, and immediately got a terminal diagnosis. I didn't think it would be that quick. In Friends, when Phoebe's brother wants to give her one of his kids because triplets is too much to handle, he struggles to decide which one. Each of them is his favorite for a unique reason. That's how I feel about these girls. I don't have a favorite, but Billie is a favorite. She was a little runty when we first brought her home and took longer to gain weight than her sisters. She's so curious and brave and determined. I hand fed her snacks and saved the bigger pieces for her and celebrated the first time she weighed the most at monthly weigh in. And soon I'm going to have to decide when it's her time to go.

Two of my favorite things: reading and rats.

It's a cruel joke that creatures as wonderful as rats live so short a time. Two years is nothing, yet it's everything. They bring me so much happiness some days I could cry. I understand how people have a rotating collection of rats: every year integrate one or two new rats into the group and offset the one or two you lose every year. Constant pain but also constant joy. Just thinking of losing one of my trio made me want to adopt another already, even though I promised no more. It's going to be a hard couple of years.