Rattie Ramblings

I was going to write about something fun this week, but now I'm just not in the mood. I spent the last three days caring for a dying Monte, who was only 10 months old. What he had looked like myco, but it stole his appetite along with his breath. He refused to eat or drink anything. I tried tempting him with all the rattie snack faves and sick rat faves I could think of, but he even turned down yogurt drops. You know it's bad when a rat won't even nibble at a yogurt drop. It was horrible watching him waste away. He was too young to go, but there didn't seem to be anything I could do to stop him.

This is where the agony of owning rats comes in. For weeks after one dies, I go over and over all the things I did wrong or could have done wrong. Was he too stressed out by his dominant brother? Was he overheated when we had the brownouts a week ago? Was it because he was always a bit sickly and weaker than the others? Was it really myco? Could he have had something else? Inhalation pneumonia? A new strain of virus? Did I clean his cage often enough? Too often? Did I pay enough attention to him? On and on it goes -- aaaaargh!

Montelimar was not an especially notable rat, but he was handsome and had a beautiful "blue" hood that was just a few shades off from a real blue. He was the mental runt of his litter, always the last to try something new. He was a momma's boy, (literally - as a baby he followed her around ALL the time and nearly drove her crazy) who everyone else picked on. He wasn't terribly bright or overly friendly, but he was always cheerful. He tolerated humans and was always gentle and kind in our company. He preferred being around other rats, even when they picked on him. I had to separate him from all of his brothers, except sweet Coffee, because he was getting so badly abused. Even Coffee would beat him up occasionally, but poor Monte was miserable when I tried having him live on his own. Now Coffee is sad too, wandering around the cage wondering why his brother went so still and why I took him away from him.

Monte was good-natured and gentle even to the end. He never complained about being sick; he just lay silently and let us pet him and talk to him. We begged him to eat, to drink, to stay, but for some reason, he decided to accept his fate quietly. He went like he would have wanted - dying after we had all left for the day with only his brother with him. He had lived enough, it seemed, and now it was time for him to go.

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