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A badly behaved rat on a train
Nov. 20th, 2014 05:33 pmToday didn't go as (vaguely) planned. This is because I discovered yesterday that my rat Tino had collapsed - looked like the symptoms of a pituitary tumour, so fine one day and then at death's door. Really nasty. So I had to take Tino to the vet to be put to sleep today and also Finn for a check over. He has a tumour on his chest that would be operable if Finn didn't have lung scarring and a permanent wheeze. His back legs have also packed up.
When I showed Finn to the vet and was going over the details of his disabilities, I said, "Please ignore the lump for the moment." "I can't," she said. "I'm riveted by it." She did agree with my assessment that he was an anaesthetic risk, so unfortunately no surgery. He was judged comfortable for now and that the lump was not hurting him. We took care of poor Tino first and then I repacked Finn for the trip home. Finn, btw, is too overweight to fit comfortably into a rat carrier so he had to be loose in the backpack.
On the train, Finn decided he wanted to come out. Despite my efforts, he got his nose and part of his head out, pushing through the zip, so enough to be recognisable as a rat. The young Asian girl sitting beside me emitted a faint squeak of terror and immediately decamped to the opposite seat, with me calling, "He's friendly!" after her, to no avail. Then the elderly lady already on the opposite seat saw Finn and shrieked, while I was busy apologising and trying to shove Finn's head back into the backpack. Even so, she had no call to be mentioning ratsack.
The only luck was that the guards didn't pick then to do a ticket check, because with the way Finn was behaving, they would have seen the rustling backpack for sure and probably the rat face peering at them.
These are the characteristis of rat ownership: Frequent sadness because they don't live long and mixed embarrassment and hilarity at their antics. Thank you, Tino, and also Finn, for enriching my life.
When I showed Finn to the vet and was going over the details of his disabilities, I said, "Please ignore the lump for the moment." "I can't," she said. "I'm riveted by it." She did agree with my assessment that he was an anaesthetic risk, so unfortunately no surgery. He was judged comfortable for now and that the lump was not hurting him. We took care of poor Tino first and then I repacked Finn for the trip home. Finn, btw, is too overweight to fit comfortably into a rat carrier so he had to be loose in the backpack.
On the train, Finn decided he wanted to come out. Despite my efforts, he got his nose and part of his head out, pushing through the zip, so enough to be recognisable as a rat. The young Asian girl sitting beside me emitted a faint squeak of terror and immediately decamped to the opposite seat, with me calling, "He's friendly!" after her, to no avail. Then the elderly lady already on the opposite seat saw Finn and shrieked, while I was busy apologising and trying to shove Finn's head back into the backpack. Even so, she had no call to be mentioning ratsack.
The only luck was that the guards didn't pick then to do a ticket check, because with the way Finn was behaving, they would have seen the rustling backpack for sure and probably the rat face peering at them.
These are the characteristis of rat ownership: Frequent sadness because they don't live long and mixed embarrassment and hilarity at their antics. Thank you, Tino, and also Finn, for enriching my life.