Monday, December 31, 2007
Glorious Pets
(4)
I love the idea of remembering my pet rats. I cried most of my adult tears in response to the deaths of my pet rats. Let me tell you how it all began:
One day I found a gerbil running around in the hallway near our door. I captured it and posted a note to that effect. Meanwhile I secured the gerbil in a fish tank. The Gerbil was fascinating. Eventually the owner of the Gerbil claimed it. But I was hooked.
I visited the local pet shop. I wanted a gerbil. The girl who attended me suggested a rat instead, claiming that rats were far superior pets. I bought a female rat. I brought her home in a cardboard box and put her in the fish tank. I loved watching her do her little rat things.
One fine day I took her out of the fish tank and put her next to me on the couch. She hid. But then she attacked my left hand in a most playful way. She seemed to understand that we were friends and that this was playtime.
From then on I treated her as a pet who had the power to influence me. I began to love her. (yet more blogger problems). She loved me back. For example, when she was in heat she would stiffen up and arch her butt whenever I petted her. When I grabbed her with my hand while she was in that state she shivered as if in orgasm. I decided that she was becoming imprinted on me, sexually. I decided that she needed a male rat. I decided that she was 'ready for Freddy.'
I bought a young male rat at a pet shop. I named him, 'Freddy.' I put him in the fish tank. It was love at first sight. I named the male 'Fred' and the female, 'Wilma.' (her previous name was, 'rat')
Fred and Wilma produced a brood of about 12 new rats. Wilma was very protective of her brood, nipping my fingers when I tried to pet them. I gave most of them to the pet shop. Wilma's next brood was 14. I would keep the two largest in my shirt pocket while the rest fed on Wilma. Then I would give them to Wilma. Meanwhile I would feed Wilma a most extravagant diet for a rat. Wilma would gobble up a diet far beyond what a normal rat could expect, and as a result Wilma's children would grow way beyond their normal expectations. Furthermore I would cuddle them inside my shirt pocket while I created software on my Apple, and I would eventually give those glorious children to the local pet shop.
This went on for years and then my rats began dying of lung problems.
My experience with pet rats is that rats are extremely loving and intelligent pets. You could do much worse than a rat. The problem is that rats live only two or three years at most. You must be prepared to morn your pets very often.
My favorite memory is when I visited the pet shop after giving the most recent brood away. The pet shop had featured them in a central exhibit. Customers could reach in and interact with the rats. I walked up to the enclosure, then put my hand inside. They all recognized my hand and began crawling up my arm. A woman expressed surprise, and I explained that I had raised them all from scratch.
I always cried whenever I abandoned them.
I love the idea of remembering my pet rats. I cried most of my adult tears in response to the deaths of my pet rats. Let me tell you how it all began:
One day I found a gerbil running around in the hallway near our door. I captured it and posted a note to that effect. Meanwhile I secured the gerbil in a fish tank. The Gerbil was fascinating. Eventually the owner of the Gerbil claimed it. But I was hooked.
I visited the local pet shop. I wanted a gerbil. The girl who attended me suggested a rat instead, claiming that rats were far superior pets. I bought a female rat. I brought her home in a cardboard box and put her in the fish tank. I loved watching her do her little rat things.
One fine day I took her out of the fish tank and put her next to me on the couch. She hid. But then she attacked my left hand in a most playful way. She seemed to understand that we were friends and that this was playtime.
From then on I treated her as a pet who had the power to influence me. I began to love her. (yet more blogger problems). She loved me back. For example, when she was in heat she would stiffen up and arch her butt whenever I petted her. When I grabbed her with my hand while she was in that state she shivered as if in orgasm. I decided that she was becoming imprinted on me, sexually. I decided that she needed a male rat. I decided that she was 'ready for Freddy.'
I bought a young male rat at a pet shop. I named him, 'Freddy.' I put him in the fish tank. It was love at first sight. I named the male 'Fred' and the female, 'Wilma.' (her previous name was, 'rat')
Fred and Wilma produced a brood of about 12 new rats. Wilma was very protective of her brood, nipping my fingers when I tried to pet them. I gave most of them to the pet shop. Wilma's next brood was 14. I would keep the two largest in my shirt pocket while the rest fed on Wilma. Then I would give them to Wilma. Meanwhile I would feed Wilma a most extravagant diet for a rat. Wilma would gobble up a diet far beyond what a normal rat could expect, and as a result Wilma's children would grow way beyond their normal expectations. Furthermore I would cuddle them inside my shirt pocket while I created software on my Apple, and I would eventually give those glorious children to the local pet shop.
This went on for years and then my rats began dying of lung problems.
My experience with pet rats is that rats are extremely loving and intelligent pets. You could do much worse than a rat. The problem is that rats live only two or three years at most. You must be prepared to morn your pets very often.
My favorite memory is when I visited the pet shop after giving the most recent brood away. The pet shop had featured them in a central exhibit. Customers could reach in and interact with the rats. I walked up to the enclosure, then put my hand inside. They all recognized my hand and began crawling up my arm. A woman expressed surprise, and I explained that I had raised them all from scratch.
I always cried whenever I abandoned them.
