The Sheen's the Thing

Here is more of the Rat:

Shiny shiny shiny pants!

And I've had more thoughts on the overall costume for the Rooster, as well, so you may see an updated doodle of that in the near future.

In other news, I got back on the wall with both hands today, and I've only got a little soreness.  I'll be staying off it for the next few days, then back on again.  Healing is the most obnoxiously slow thing in the world.

'Twas the Day After Christmas...

...and all through the house
A Creature was stirring
(She wasn't a Mouse)

She is a thief.  A rat-burglar, if you will.

So here is the beginnings of round two of the Masks- I don't have time to get as detailed as I did on the last one (things called "work" and "social engagements" are getting in the way) but maybe I'll remedy that tomorrow.  Her stones are not the expensive rubies, emeralds, and sapphires of the dancer's mask, they are are smoky and clear quartz, and varying shades of amethyst, unlikely to draw attention in the crowd.

Ratquiescat in Pace

We knew last night that she was going to die.

She was curled up in the corner of the cage, acting sleepy and lethargic.  We took her out and stroked her fur, held her, let her know there was love and warmth for her.  A kind touch.  Sometimes I think that's the only comfort you can give a dying creature- just a touch, so they know they're not alone.

Eventually we put her back in the cage, thinking she'd like to have the familiar smell around her.  I continued to stroke her fur, until she let it be known that she just didn't want to be touched any more.

I can understand that, too.

We left her alone with her sister, and we went to bed, and in the morning when we got up she was dead.  Dead, not "passed", because I hate that term.  I stitched up a shroud, with the idea that I didn't really want to keep her from the elements- but I did want to show respect.  And love.

Pale pink was the color I chose-  gentle, like her.

We took her across the river to bury her.  Katie and Marc came, and wove little wreaths and bouquets for the grave.  I dug the grave with our newly-bought trowel, but we all contributed handfuls of dirt to the actual burial.

It's good to have friends who will indulge you.

Back into the earth from whence she sprang.

The view from the gravesite

Katie picked the spot, and it's a good one- as fine a final resting place as any one could hope for.  And yes, I know that for all I buried her a full foot deep she'll probably be dug up by a scavenger before sunrise.  But I'm okay with that, too.  There's an importance to ritual that has nothing to do with the reality of life.  Or death.

Camilla Ratkins, 2009-2011

Requiem aeternam dona eis,

et lux perpetua luceat eis

An Exercise in Dialogue

"Wakeup."
"Mmm?"
"Wakeupwakeup!"
"M'wake!"
"They're gone!  It's time to play!"
"Geeze, Rem.  You're acting like this doesn't happen every day."
"But it's happening now, Nico!  It's happening now!"
"That it is.  And it will still be happening an hour from now.  In fact, it will be happening for the next, oh, sixteen hours.  So I am going back to sleep, and you can wake me when the sun goes down.  In two hours."
"Fifteen."
"...what?"
"Fifteen hours, until the teacher comes back.  She comes in before the kids, remember remember?"
"I am glad to see that you've finally managed to master the basics of fourth grade math.  Now please let me go back to sleep."
"Okay.  I guess I'll just go run on the wheel."
"Really?  Really?  I ask you to let me sleep, and you're going to go run on the wheel?"
"What's wrong with the wheel?"
"What's wrong wi- for the love of cheese, Rem!  It squeaks!  It's squeaks more than you do, and that's saying something!"
"I guess I could take a bath instead..."
"Yes, do that.  Excellent idea.  When in doubt, groom.  Quietly."
"...Nico?"
"I am asleep."
"Yes, I know, but... my paw is stuck."
"How on earth did you- Rem, why is your paw stuck in the latch of the cage?"
"I, um... thought I might go out?  So that I could play without bothering you?"
"I thought you were going to groom!"
"I was!  Just... under a desk.  Sometimes they leaves snacks, you know!"
"Quit squirming.  How did you wedge it so far in?  I swear... And yes, I know they leave snacks sometimes- who showed you how to get out in the first place?  But aren't you forgetting something?"
"Ow! Thanks.  Forgetting something like what?"
"Like, oh, him?"
"The janitor?"
"Yes the janitor- just how do you think he'd react to a pair of rats running around loose in the classroom?"
"But he likes us!  Look, he's coming over to say hello!"
"Hey there, little guys!  Say, what's wrong with your paw there, little Remmy?  You hurt it or somethin'?  Nicodemus, you need to take better care of your little brother!  Well here, I brought you guys a treat.  But shhh, don't tell Mizz Rupert, okay?  She told me I'm makin' you fat with all these after-hour snacks.  But I say, how can fruit make you fat?  It's healthy!  So you just eat up... and I'll get back to work.  I'll leave a note for Mizz Rupert that somethin's wrong with your paw, okay Remmy?  Be good now, little rats."
"See?  He's nice!  And I love apples!"
"You love everything."
"I do!"
"...I guess I may as well stay awake now, to keep you out of trouble."
"You're so nice, Nico... can we go out and play now?"
"No.  Not until the building is empty.  You know that."
"Oh right... what will we do once we're out?"
"The same thing we do every night, Rem."
"Try to take over the-"
"No!  Quit saying that!  It was barely funny the first time!"
"...sorry."
"I wish the teacher had never shown the class that show, I swear.  We're just lucky we'd already been named... I'm sure I'd have ended up Pinky, with my luck."
"I like that show!"
"Of course you do."
"...so what are we going to do?"
"We're going to go look for mates."
"Why do we want mates?"
"You'll understand when we find them."

Poor Rat Baby

(...some women become Cat Ladies. Apparently I've become a Rat Lady...)

Today was a rough day for the rat babies. I'd made an appointment at the vet for 1630, and since I get off work at 1600 I just brought them in to the office with me. They sat on one corner of my desk (next to the printer, for extra warmth) while I dealt with the day-to-day minutia of my job. The thing is, their "mobile home" isn't that big- it's just a plastic storage thing we drilled holes in. So there wasn't much space for running around and the like, which meant they ended up spending most of the day taking rat naps.

Once we got to the vet and situated in our little waiting room, I let them out so they could crawl around on me. They eventually settled down, one on each shoulder, and took yet another nap while I read (hey, I'm not complaining- the cats are never so well-behaved at the vet!) Everyone was so impressed by how sweet my rats are- they got lots of compliments on their nice manners. Guess there's hope for us as people-who-rear-things yet... Anyway, eventually the doc showed up (he'd been delayed due to- and I quote- "a rabbit emergency"), and took a look at Camilla.

Camilla was the reason we were there (Zelda was just along for moral support): it was time to grind her teeth down again. But this time they were even worse than the first time we had to do it. One of her upper incisors had actually curled so far around that it was growing back up into her palate. Poor little thing. So the vet recommended that we just remove her incisors, since she's not able to actually chew with them, and they cause her pain. But not until after she'd recovered from today's procedure, which turned out to be a) trimming the teeth and b) extracting the tooth from where it had punctured her mouth. He wants to make sure she's healed up and infection-free before he operates on her.

Oh my expensive "free" pets. ::sigh::

They actually let me come back and watch the procedure (Zelda, too- who stayed meekly on my shoulder the entire time) which was pretty neat, but also a little difficult because it's hard to see a creature scared and confused, even if it's for its own good (the knock-out gas makes them stagger around, and they don't understand what's going on). But watching is how I discovered that rats have molars! Who knew? Not me! But discovering that made me feel much better about taking away her incisors, and that maybe we won't have to re-name her "Gummie", after all...

Afterward they gave me ("gave me"- pfft, I paid for it...) two little phials of medicine- one is an antibiotic, the other a pain-killer, so tonight I had the interesting experience of administering drugs to a rat. A rat who was not thrilled with being wrapped in a hand towel and having a syringe thingy shoved in her mouth. She squeaked so pathetically- I felt really guilty, especially because that's all she did: didn't try to bite me or anything, just looked at me like, Why?

And I have to do it twice a day for the next two weeks. Oh brother.

Copping Rattitude

Okay, here it is: I'm tired of people hating on my rats.

Now, the vast majority of people who may or may not be reading this blog probably don't have any problems whatsoever with my rats. But there are people who do. And this is addressed to them.

When we are at a party and I happen to mention that I have rats, it's totally cool if you want to say something along the lines of, "Ooo, rats. I'm not really down with rats." I mean it would possibly be more polite for you to smile and say, "That's nice," before quickly changing the subject, but it's cool- I get it. Rats are not for everyone. But here's the thing- there is no need for you to go on a long diatribe about how much you are not down with rats. I could quite probably do without the theatrical facial expressions, the repetition of the words "hate" "disgusting" and "bleaugh", and to be frank the pretty dang offensive stories of you having to call the big strong man next door over to discard of the tiny mouse you killed with your stupid trap. And then you made him put it in his garbage can instead of yours, because apparently you're not just skeezed out by rodents, you also fear rodent zombies. I would probably call antics of these sorts "insensitive", to say the least.

It's especially annoying when you act this way even after I've carefully explained that I do not keep New York sewer rats as pets, but rather domesticated fancy rats. Seriously, lady- it's like the difference between a wolf and a particularly good-natured dachshund. Most people would not like to be in the same room with a wolf, no matter how well-behaved. But few of those people would put a dachshund on the same level of Uh-Oh.

And it's not like I'm whipping out pictures of my little darlings, demanding that you admire them- they just came up in passing conversation. Because come on. I cannot tell you how many times I have refrained from using the words "bug-ugly" "disgusting" or "bleaugh" in regards to people's hideous human offspring. And I have never told stories about inhumanely killing them when they stumbled onto my property. So why can't you show me the same consideration when I happen to mention the small creatures in my care? At least mine are cute, well-mannered, and clean.*

Oh wait I lied- admire my thoroughly superior rats!

(Zelda Ratkins)


(Camilla Ratkins)

*Of course this entire paragraph in no way relates to the children of any of the people I know and love... I'm only friends with people who have superior genes, so they necessarily breed superior kids.

"Everything That Matters Ends"

I was puttering around on NPR today, and came across an article about the potential of eradicating death. In the article, the author posed the question, "If a pill were developed that cured aging and allowed you to live indefinitely, would you take it?" which, of course, I took it upon myself to answer:

"I've tried to answer this four times, and each time I just get more and more knotted up in my answers. I guess what it comes down to is that, on a personal level, I think I wouldn't mind an extra century or so of youth (so long as I had a companion or two with a similar span)- but true immortality? Not so much. Furthermore, I think it's a very bad idea when applied to our entire race (or even just the affluent part of our race)- the repercussions would be, in my opinion, hideous (who's read a lot of scifi and fantasy addressing such issues? THIS GIRL...) Which means I could not, in good conscience, accept such a pill for myself. Now, maybe if they invented a pill that would keep my mind sharp and my limbs supple until the end of my natural life span... THAT I would be down with."

Anyway, then Nathan came and took me out to lunch, and I brought the question up to him. His answer came without hesitation, and I must say it was not the one I was expecting:

"Of course."

"Really?"

"Sure. I like life," and our conversation went from there. As it progressed, it turned out that his views were actually more in line with mine- we both feel that eventually you would just get tired, just ready for the end. And of course, neither of us would be keen to unnaturally extend our lives unless the other was doing it, too. Or so he claims, anyway...

Later on in the day (specifically evening-times) I was flipping through the recent journal posts of Neil Gaiman and stumbled across this one, which contains a video interview of him from 1993 (which was only a year or two before I was first clued in to him, thank you Katie...). In the video, the interviewer mentions that The Sandman is an unusual comic in that it was allowed to have an ending. He then asks Neil about why having an ending to the series is important to him, and Neil answers,

"Because stories that matter have ends. Everything that matters ends; it's the end that gives it meaning."

And I just felt that I'd stumbled across a rather lovely piece of synchronicity that does a damn good job of summing up why I wouldn't actually want to be immortal. Death gives life shape- it literally gives it meaning. You cannot understand or appreciate a thing without being aware of its potential absence.

My brain is full of these Gigantic Subjects, lately. Love and Death, that sort of thing. Not a bad mental state for an artist to be in, I suppose... it makes me a little melancholy, but it also makes me reach out to hold my husband's hand more often, and that's surely a good thing.



(In less serious musings: Rat Baby!)

Ratventures!

You may or may not be aware of the fact that there are rat babies in our lives. Technically speaking they're not babies at all, except in the same sense that Nathan's parents' thirteen-year-old dog is still "the puppy". Anyway rat babies make pretty sweet pets, but they have certain quirks of anatomy that the cats don't share. One such quirk is the ever-growing-teeth quirk.

Normally this is not a problem for rats- the little suckers will gnaw on anything and everything (which is why we give them sticks and cardboard tubes and such) which naturally keeps the teeth in shape. They also have a habit of bruxing (ie grinding their teeth together in an equivalent of a cat's purr), which helps keep things under control, too. Notice that I said normally.

Of our two rat babies, Zelda is the bold and dashing one, and Camilla is the shyer, more home-body rat. Zelda's teeth are absolutely fine, but a while ago I noticed that Camilla's lower teeth were causing her to somewhat strongly resemble a nosfeRATu. Pretty freakin' creepy, even for those of us who think rat babies are, as a general rule, default adorable.

At any rate, if a rat's teeth start to look a bit tusk-ish, the solution is to take them to the vet and have the teeth ground down, so I made an appointment for this morning, and round about 1020 Nathan and I loaded up the Ratkins (that's their surname) and headed out.

You might be wondering why we brought both rat babies, if only one of them needed medical attention. Well, the fact of the matter is that rats are incredibly social animals, and we thought it would be way less stressful for Camilla if Zelda came along for the ride. Turned out to be a good decision on our part, since we ended up sitting in a waiting room for like half an hour while they worked on her (they had to give her knock out gas), and having Zelda to play with did a lot to relieve the tedium.

The other bonus was that Nathan managed to get quite a few good pictures of her swarming all over me, being cute, and moreover he was able to use one of her eating a carrot as his "action" shot for today.

(Feeding Time)

They eventually brought a very groggy Camilla back to us (her chompers a respectable length once more) and we discovered what had taken so long. The vet had accidenly nicked her gum while he was trimming her teeth, and the poor man was so distraught it bordered on comical. I reassured him that it was okay- "After all," I said, "I can't tell you how many times my dentist has made my gums bleed, and he's not trying to work with tools the size of my head!" This made the assistant crack up, so I figure they realized we weren't going to sue, or anything.

The vet was able to give us a theory as to why Camilla's teeth had gotten so out of control- turns out her upper teeth are abnormally small, and at an unusual angle, making it difficult for her to brux properly. He says she was probably born that way, and just to keep an eye on how long the lower teeth get. Which tells me we're probably going to have to repeat this rigmarole once every six months.

::sigh::

Ah, "free" pet ownership...

Phrases You'd Never Have Thought You'd Say

"Are you being a naughty rat baby?" amongst them.

Well, Zelda and Camilla have come to stay. Zelda is currently rooting around the inside of my hoodie (the safest place for her "out of cage" time when there are kittehs about) while Camilla continues her nap inside the cage (I don't believe in forcing them to socialize if they're not feeling it). Camilla tends towards the naps, I find- yesterday she was perfectly content to curl up around my neck and snooze. It was sweet. But not our intrepid Zelda, oh no- she is living up to her namesake, exploring whatever I will give her access to.

Kink does not seem to (pardon the pun) give a rat's ass about the newest additions to the household. Krumps, on the other hand, is just waiting for the moment I wane in vigilance. She does not seem to care that I tell her it's wrong to eat your baby sisters. Older siblings, I swear.

So tonight was my second time teaching H2O Bootcamp. It went smoother this time- and at the end of it Nathan said he wanted to vomit, so I take that as a good sign... (that's right- he came out to support me. What a good husband!) Monday will be my first day Shadowing a Flow instructor- which gives me an excellent excuse to go buy new workout clothes! Woo!

Anyway I'm exhausted. I plan on getting a lot of writing done tomorrow, so hopefully there will be something more creative for you guys to read (I mean, if you're reading. Whoever you are.) Time to put this rat baby to bed!

(Ratquiem for a Dream)

PS Of course I put one down and the other one wants up. Camilla is currently poking her little rat head out of my sleeve, attempting to help me typeh...r vh eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee bu uppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp/p/ p

We're Not Pregnant...

...but we are expecting.

Specifically we are expecting a pair of rat babies. Rat babies that are not actually babies, they are fully mature female Rattus norvegici (is that how you make "norvegicus" plural? Anyone?), but it is more fun to call them "rat babies", and so I do. (Also, "ratkins".)

Now, those of you who know that we are already the proud parents to a pair of most excellent felines (Milktiger Kink and Krumpet Mon-Mothra) may be puzzled at this development. I don't blame you. Puzzle on, my friends. Truly, as much as I love rats (and I do- I really do love rats. It's a thing...), I probably would not, of my own volition, have adopted a pair while the kitties were still in perpetual-indoor residence. It could just lead to too many hilarious tragedies. But this is a special case, and so we make an exception.

The special case, you ask? Well, let's go back to the origin of the species. No, wait, too far- let's just go back to the origin of those rats into our lives. See, a while ago Nathan's brother Ben and his wife Heather decided that the time had come to teach their children (specifically their oldest daughter- we shall call her Thing One) responsibility towards a pet. Rats being social creatures, they got two, the other one supposedly property of Thing One's little brother, Thing Two (who is, in fact, two, and thus not really responsible for his rat).

Things were going along quite well until Ben and Heather noticed that Thing One had a truly horrific cough that never seemed to go away- except when she was at her grandparents' house, away from the rats. Yup, it looks like my poor little niece is quite allergic to her beloved pet. Much sadness all around. Ben mentions to Nathan that they are trying to find a new home for the rats (Zelda and Camilla by name) and I say, oh-so-casually, something to the effect of "Rat babies! Gimme!"

The way I see it, this is a totally do-able thing- half of our house is closed off to the kittens, so the rat babies can have their (really rather plush) cage in there. Plus they don't live more than about two years, so it's not like getting another cat. Plus, you know... rat babies.

To be completely honest, what I actually said was more along the lines of, "Hmm. It's feasible that we could take them. Let me do some research and think about it," which Nathan took to mean "Rat babies! Gimme!" and then the next thing I know Thing One is being all extra snuggly with Nathan and myself, which her mom says is probably due to "her relief that the rats are being taken by someone who will love them rather than going back to the pet shop."

And that's how I found out that we are expecting rat-babies.