Rats!

by Danielle Birkin

One sunny summer afternoon when I was 6 years old, I was frolicking outside on the patio while my mother sipped iced tea nearby. As I rooted around in the bushes, a tiny mouse scurried past and disappeared into the foliage. I was startled—our Las Vegas veranda attracted more lizards and toads than rodents—but I wasn’t scared. I casually mentioned the little guy to my mom.

Within moments I was in the house, in my bathroom, naked, with urgent hands guiding me into the tub. Although I hadn’t even touched the little guy, I was thoroughly soaped, scrubbed and scolded. Rodents, mother warned me solemnly, were to be forever feared and avoided.

I nodded dutifully and dismissed the incident. And, fortunately, I didn’t inherit my mother’s murophobia.

A dozen years later I met Ratzo.

****** He was your basic hooded rat. Slender and sleek, with a furry brown-on-white body and a fuzzy chocolate face. Silken, elegantly tapered whiskers. Perky pink ears. A wrinkled nugget of a nose. Sensitive, sagacious brown eyes. A limp hairless tail. I promptly fell in love.

We met in Reno at a fraternity house in July 1988. Ratzo was rooming with Doug Bandt, the older brother of my best friend, Peggy Bandt Stover. Peg and I planned to attend UNR in the fall of ’88, so we spent a weekend with Doug—and Ratzo—in Reno in order to participate in a freshman-orientation seminar.

Word was, Doug had discovered Ratzo abandoned outside one of the student dorms at the end of the spring semester. At best, he’d been a student’s loyal pet, accidentally left forlorn on the curbside in a milk crate. At worst, he’d been a student’s biology project.

Rescued by Doug, Ratzo had the run of Doug’s room at the fraternity house—which is to say he had no cage and probably did most of his business in the dark corners under Doug’s bed. As for his diet, Doug gave him a hot dog about once a week and left the water drizzling in the rusted bathroom sink.

Hardly ideal.

Fortunately, Doug was no fool, and he recognized the obvious solution: He gave Ratzo to Peg and I.

In mid-September, just three weeks into our freshman semester, he simply sauntered up to our dorm room with Ratzo tucked snugly into his jacket and presented us with a fuzzy, wiggly house-warming gift.

Of course, pets were forbidden in the dormitories. But who cared?

Ratzo was promptly provided with a spacious cage carpeted in fragrant pine shavings. We also bought him a water bottle, a sturdy food dish and some rat food. He seemed pleased with the new arrangement.

As our love blossomed, I quickly came to appreciate the many positive attributes Ratzo had to offer as a pet. I also came to realize how grossly misunderstood and underestimated rats really are. Consider:

Low Maintenance. A rat is an excellent pet for someone who lives in a small apartment—perhaps in a building where companions such as cats or dogs are forbidden. Rats require little space and they don’t make much noise. They don’t require frequent walking and grooming, and they don’t shed much fur.

In addition, unlike other pets which require frequent attention and as a result cannot be trusted home alone for more than 20 minutes, rats are content to simply sit and chill.

The Olfactory Factor. How do rats rate compared with other small critters? The nose knows. All things considered, hamsters, gerbils, bunnies and other small, domesticated animals are cute and fuzzy and all, but the truth is, they tend to have a rather discernible, um…odor. And the smell readily spreads, often permeating entire households, even neighborhoods.

Rats, on the other hand, are inherently clean critters. Like cats, they groom themselves frequently by licking their fur. If their bedding is changed regularly, and their cage is properly scrubbed each month, rats emit virtually no odor at all.

Ouch. And they rarely bite.

Bargain Buy. Practically speaking, rats are economical pets, selling for as little as $3.95 at pet stores. Rats don’t require shots, neutering or professional grooming. A month’s supply of pine shavings costs less than $5 (never use cedar chips for your rat’s bed—cedar can cause respiratory problems for rats).

A bag of small-critter feed costs less than $10. And rats readily accept other foods as well. In fact, a rat will eat darn near anything. Fruits and vegetables are popular—and essential to a rat’s diet because of the vitamins and minerals they provide. Rats also enjoy hearty crackers, breads and cereals. As for snacks and table scraps, just about anything goes: Ratzo adored Kraft macaroni and cheese. He was also decidedly fond of pizza crust and he went nuts for peaches.

The Taming of the Shrewd. Because rats are intelligent creatures, they become easily acclimated to their environment, requiring little domesticating. Most rats that are sold in pet stores are gentle and friendly, which makes them suitable pets for young children. Often, a rat will be initially shy when exposed to a new environment, but will readily adapt to a new home within a few days.

Like most pets, rats require human interaction. Most rats are amiable and enjoy some friendly merrimaking with thier owner. Ratzo used to like to hang out with me while I was reading or studying. He also enjoyed sitting on my shoulder when I watched the evening news.

Dissemination. My mother, who was aghast when she first learned about Ratzo, has reluctantly come to accept my affinity for rats, though she finds it disconcerting.

The Big Picture. OK, so perhaps a rat is not the right pet for you. But if you love animals in general, and would like to do what you can to rally for the respect and preservation of our misunderstood rodent friends—without having to actually go near one—here are some simple things you can do to help:

• Avoid purchasing products that are tested on animals. Many such tests involve rodents. • Set humane traps for the uninvited small critters who visit your household. • Oppose vivisection. Refuse to participate in dissection experiments at school. Rats are regularly mutilated by sadistic junior high students in science classes. • Don’t feed live rodents to reptiles. This seems obvious.

Trio. In the last nine years, I have mothered three rats. Ratzo, of course, was first, followed by Hershey, then Bandit. Sadly, the lifespan of the average rat is only about 1,000 days—less than three years—which seems tragically short.

Bandit’s recent passing was quite distressing, and I haven’t yet considered obtaining another pet. But some time soon, I know I’m going to want an animal friend. I might get a rat. But I now live in a spacious apartment, in a complex where more traditional pets are welcomed: I am considering getting a dog—my mother would be so relieved.