Rocks In My Dryer

And If You're Eating a Bowl Of Cocoa Puffs, I'm Especially Sorry

I would like to announce to no one in particular that our pet rats have somehow learned to poop outside of their cage.

I do not mean they are escaping from their cage and pooping.  I mean they are in their cage, carefully locked in, and somehow the little poop pellets leave their bodies and end up on the floor just outside their cage.

And I know those are a lot of italics, but if there was ever a cause for italics, I'd say Bionic Rodent Poop qualifies. 

The whole thing kind of reminds me of that Magic Bullet Theory from the Kennedy assassination--remember?  Supposedly the bullet traveled all these different directions, shifting in mid-air.

Except this hasn't altered the course of U.S. history.

Well, and it's poop. 

* * * * * * * * * *

(Thus concludes my first attempt at being funny and lighthearted.  It feels strange.  I haven't fully given myself permission to laugh yet.  Bear with me.  And quick, leave a funny comment so I won't feel all weird and exposed.)

And Next Time I'm Taking Video

Things I learned about rats yesterday:

1. Rats hate baths.
2. Rats hate hair dryers more.
3. Rats have a vertical leap that puts Michael Jordan to shame.

I will leave the rest to your imagination.

The Most Amazing Thing Has Happened

I was working in the garage this morning, and I saw a little mouse scurry across the floor.  In the old days, before our current adventure in which my heart is being softened toward rodents, I would have jumped up on a stool and screamed and thrown things. 

But I'll be darned if I didn't follow the little guy.  I even thought his squeaks were cute.  There was no screaming, no adrenaline rushes of terror.  I mean, I didn't feel tempted to touch it, but at least I didn't want to whack it with a shovel. 

I'm growing as a person, y'all.

It's the little things.

It's Actually a Sweet Post About Rats

Stephen's rat died last week.  It was his first encounter with death, at least in his conscious memory, and the sag of his shoulders and sobs coming from deep in his chest were enough to break this momma's heart.  As I held my boy, trying to will comfort into him, I knew I'd never loved him more than I had at that moment. 

And then Stephen's little brother Joseph, empathetically weeping with his brother, offered to give Stephen his own much-loved rat, in hope of easing the pain.  And I hugged my generous boy close and knew I'd never loved him more than I had at that moment.

And then, a few minutes later, I watched from the warmth of the kitchen as Hubs pounded away at the ice with a shovel, digging a little rat-sized grave.  And I watched his strong arm around my Stephen's shoulders, leaning down to our son's level to hold a little ratty funeral in the frigid, pelting ice.  I knew I'd never loved that man more than I had at that moment.

And yes, I know there is a very odd irony that these precious life moments were brought about by rats--rats, of all things!--but isn't that just the way of things sometime?  The messes mixed in with the joy, the heartache stirred up with the oddities.  Living life is a mixed bag, isn't it?

And May God Have Mercy On Us All

Guess who joined our family this week?

Below is Sylvia.  She's clearly the most level-headed of the group--the boss rat, if you will. 

Next is Robin.  She's the most mellow, a bit of a poetic soul.  She enjoys long walks on the beach and sniffing her friends' poop:

   

Rat #3 is Nellie.  She is a complete head case:

Below is Hubs attempting to talk Nellie through a little rat panic attack.  We are watching her closely and have taken away her shoelaces and pocket knife.  You can't be too careful:

Additionally, Nellie sneezes a lot, which means we're probably all about to get the Black Death.

The Great Rat Adventure of '07, '08, and oh-sweet-Heaven-please-not-into-'09 only took place after the Dryer boys signed the document below (feel free to click to enlarge for detail, should you ever be in need of a rat pledge yourself):

The quote of the day came from Stephen.  As the salesgirl was helping us check out, she pointed out that each rat costs $7.  "Wow!" Stephen shouted.  "How are you able to price them so low?"

He's definitely not the person to take with you to a used car lot.

And never mind that if we just headed down into the sewer, we could get the rats for free.

Oh, Rats.

People spend a whole lot of money getting rid of rodents. 

And I'm spending a lot of money buying them.  (And by "a lot of money" I mean "more than zero", which is precisely how much a rodent is worth, as far as I'm concerned.)  The boys have been begging and begging for small, furry pets of their own for months and months, and I have drug my feet as long as I can. 

After the whole our-dog-went-crazy ordeal earlier in the fall, I knew we were toast.  The rodents would be unavoidable now.  I did enough homework and learned that (*shudder*) rats seem to make excellent pets.  I bought the boys a book on the subject, told them they all three have to read it, cover to cover, and learn every little detail about rat care.  They have devoured it.

(It's funny--when you write a blog post about rats, words like "devour" suddenly take on a creepy new meaning.)

They have to learn all the rat-care details, because I do not want to see the rats, or touch them, or hear them, or smell them.  And HEAVEN HELP ME I do not want to see them scurrying across my living room. 

In fact, the only reason I'm even tell you about this is because I suspect there will be rat stories to tell, and very soon.  The Dryer rats may become a source of great blog fodder around here.  And if not, Melanie has a cat.

(I'm kidding!  It's a joke!  No nasty e-mails from the animal lovers, please.)

Seriously, if any of you has words of wisdom for this soon-to-be rodent owner, feel free to share your advice below.  UNLESS you once had a rat, and it escaped from its cage and gave the whole family the Plague.  If that's case, please keep your trap shut.

("Trap."  There's another word with a new meaning...)