February 27, 2015 § 1 Comment
These are the things I remember and love about my pet rats who have passed away:
Bob was a skulker, always lurking around the edges of the room and under the corners of the bed. He always had a bit of a head tilt, and it gave him a comical, inquisitive look. He was a strong rat, the first rat, he cowered in a lonely little corner of the cage for the first few nights alone until I brought home Merv. That was an instant rattie friendship.
Mervy Rat was the sweetheart rat, a snifflebug, a dark brown darling of a pet. He was small and fast and he loved to be cuddled. He sneezed a lot and I called him Sneezles Rat because of it. Merv was the ambassador: everyone loved him once they saw his sweet little brown eyes and how happy he was when you gave him a treat. He made you understand that rats are just soft, cuddly, sweet pancakes sometimes. He had the biggest heart too. When I brought Willie Rat home, Bob tried to bully him, but Mervy literally stood in between them and protected Willie.
William Rat was the only albino I had. His eyesight was pretty poor but he made up for it in intelligence and energy. He was the escape rat, the one who squeezed right through the bars of the cage late one night and scampered under the bed. He lived the longest of all my rats.
Freddy Rat was so handsome. He was a hooded rat, which means he had a dark hood over his face and a white body. Freddy was so tiny when we first got him, and then I fattened him up to a plump and roly-poly chunkster. He was pretty lazy, Freddy was. He didn’t scamper around as much, he preferred to curl up in a nook and watch his brothers bounce around the room. He loved grapes, blueberries, and strawberries. Really, he just loved food in general.
Charlie Rat just passed away, and that’s what prompted this post. I had to make the decision to put him down on Wednesday, and it killed me inside. Charles was the cuddliest, snuggliest rattie I ever owned. Everyone knows I love to read, and one of my favorite things to do was to take Charlie and Henry out of the cage and let them run around while I laid on my bed and read books. Charlie would do a little sniffing around the room and then jump up on the bed and curl up on my shoulder. He would groom himself or just lie quietly there while I read my books and occasionally rubbed his ears. He was not a handsome rat, looking more like the sewer type, but his heart was all in his eyes when he looked at me. Mervy let anyone pet him, he was a sweet little attention hog. Charlie was my rat. He loved me so much. Maybe it was because I rescued him from a stupid pet store where they kept him in a terrible aquarium cage. I’ll never forget the look of gratitude in his eyes when I picked him up from that cage and took him with me. When I brought him home and let him run around my room for the first few times, he was weak and couldn’t jump very high at all. Rats are great jumpers, like cats, but he had been cooped up in a tiny little cage for so long, his leg muscles were poorly developed. But after enough of a good diet and steady love and time in my room to stretch his legs, he caught up to the other rats. He had a poor first few months of life, my Charlie bear did, and then I brought him home and he lived the best life a rattie could want. When I held him at the vet’s office on Wednesday, after they gave him the shot, I rubbed his ears and he looked up at me and bruxed one last time for me. I think he did it to give me one last piece of his heart.
I love you, Charlie. I miss you every day.
I miss all my ratties.
February 21, 2015 § Leave a comment
Remember that time when I, in a move of unparalleled prescience, stated that I had the best friends in the entire world? (Channing is rolling her eyes SOHARD right now at ‘prescience’, I can see it.) Well, less than six hours after I made that statement here on my blog, my friends proved me right.
They threw me a surprise birthday party!!!! I love birthdays, and parties, and people gathering to eat and drink and compliment me, so this was basically the best thing they could’ve done. 29 was a birthday I was not looking forward to celebrating, and now when I look back, I’ll have this touching, sweet, kind memory of how they all came together to be there for me.
Poor Channing. Girl deserves a medal after putting up with my attempts to plan my own party. In my defense, I am a planning type of person! And even though she told me repeatedly to let her handle inviting people and etc., I didn’t want to make her do all the work for what I assumed was a simple birthday dinner. I’m sorry, Channing!!!! *humble apologies, so many humble apologies*
My roommates get a medal too, while we’re handing them out, for keeping my always-early personality a few minutes behind. As we came into the casino, we were about 10 minutes late and I was power-walking, and Jill and Erica had to slow me down so everyone could get into place. When I walked in, the first people I saw were my brother and sister, and I had a split second of total confusion before everyone yelled surprise. I couldn’t stop smiling all night long. And I led everyone in grace before the meal!
I think the reason this party touched me so much is because people took time out of their busy schedules to come and be there for me. We’re all busy, and we all don’t have a lot of extra money, and we’ve all got so many different things going on in our lives, and my friends came, and brought me presents, and cake, and made me feel so loved and special. Thanks, guys. I love you all!
Here’s a few pictures from the party:
February 16, 2015 § Leave a comment
I was going to write a blog post about turning twenty-nine today. About becoming a stronger, tougher person over the last year, and how proud I am to know that I am not weak, not a coward… about how much it hurt to have my first birthday since age 22 that I didn’t wake up to a 12:01 AM happy birthday/inside joke/sweet nickname text from Danny and how much it frustrates and, yes, embarrasses me that it still (STILL) hurts me… I might still write that post. I’m not sure. It depends on how much I need to just write the emotions out of me.
But for now, this is what I want to say, and it’s important, so pay attention: I’ve got the best friends in the entire world. I have sought and found the truth in faith, hope, and love. I’ve seen the sun rise over exotic shores and strange lands; I have realized my home is where my heart is. I’ve cried tears of joy at weddings and sobbed my guts out at a funeral.
I have learned that you can desire something with your heart and soul and the very weight of your bones and still lose it, and when you do, the loss of it will not kill you.
I’ve felt that peculiar ache that comes from yearning: I’ve felt it when I was outside in bitter cold winter air and heard the wild cries of Canadian geese flying far away above me, felt it when I rocked babies to sleep and wouldn’t put them down even though my arms were shaking, felt it in the living silence of Eucharistic Adoration as I knelt in the dim light before my God. I’ve dreamed too small, drank too much, written midnight poetry, called my mom crying over boys, held my girlfriends as they cried, made dinner for the homeless, talked desperate people off terrible ledges, given money to gas-station strangers and car rides to meth addicts. I’ve looked for the beauty in commonplace scenes and discovered it in human souls. I’ve got hockey, hipster glasses, and a future in books and beautiful words.
Listen: I’m 29. I’m eating a slice of red velvet cake with cream cheese icing for lunch. And I’m not going to gain an ounce from it.