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Real Rats: Ethel's Story

© Karen Yang

Ethel was the YRB girl who lived the longest. (For more on the YRB girls, see my earlier articles.) She didn't stand out much in the beginning and seemed very much to want to be left alone. It wasn't much of a surprise, either, since about 1/3 of her tail was missing. She was not the least bit aggressive; in fact, she seemed almost numb. For some reason, she reminded me a lot of my grandmother, so we called her Ethel after her.

Ethel and I pretty much ignored each other - she stayed away from me, and I didn't bother her too much. It wasn't until she'd been with us over half a year that she began to relax and let her personality shine through, and what a personality it was! Ethel was a closet practical joker, who loved nothing better than to shake people up. Her hobby of preying on human emotions began shortly after Shorty's death.

Shorty had died while we were away for the weekend visiting relatives. Ethel must have watched all the fuss we made over her and filed it away in her scheming little brain. A month or two later, we went away for the weekend again. When I got back, I rushed into the rat room dreading the worst. Sure enough, there was Ethel lying on her back on the bottom of their three-story cage. I couldn't see her very well, but Ethel never, ever slept on her back, and she looked like she wasn't breathing. I freaked. I thought she'd fallen off one of the shelves and died a horrible, painful death, and I was heartbroken. We got a box and a soft towel to wrap her in, and I opened up the cage and reached down to pick her up. Surprise! Ethel rolled over, gave me a funny look and scurried up the ramp to huddle with her sisters. I swear, they were all laughing at me!

After her brilliant success, Ethel came alive. More and more, she would stay out at playtime, hiding behind a bookcase and refusing to be coaxed back to the cage. Then she'd crawl in bed with us in the middle of the night, wake me up and then run away before I could catch her. Every few weeks, after I'd forgotten the last time she'd played "dead", there she'd be lying on her back at the bottom of the cage or somewhere else, looking especially mournful and funereal. As soon as I'd timidly poke her, dreading the worst, she'd waddle off laughing at me, eyes twinkling, with a "You ain't gettin' rid of me that easy" look. She had a great sense of comic timing, doing it just when I had just about forgotten the last time she'd done it, so the shock would be more effective.

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