My Lazy Rat, Part II

As temperatures continue to rise, Stella's mood degenerates. She has deigned to come out of her cage today, but she might as well have stayed in: at the moment, she's doing her best impersonation of a speed bump in the middle of my living room. If she's not careful, she's going to get herself stepped on. Her tail, in particular, is at risk--unlike the rest of her body, it changes position from time to time. If I leaned back in my chair with a little too much force right now, I'd run it over.

She's also become very irritable, especially when it comes to noise. Yesterday night, Mother rang, and the minute I started talking, Stella ran up and started peeping so loudly Mother could barely hear me. I had to chase her back into her cage before I could carry on a conversation. Even then, she kept up her squealing for quite a while.

"That can't be a rat, surely?" said Mother.

"Oh, that's a rat all right," I groaned.

"Skeek, eek, burbleurbleurble!" said Stella, disagreeably.

I'm thinking of plunking her lazy arse in the bathtub for a nice, refreshing swim. She must be absolutely sweltering under all that fur. She might enjoy a bit of a dip. Then again, she might leap out of the bathtub soaking wet, shake herself all over everything, then run amok through my apartment, dripping copiously. Particles of ratwater might fly through the air and touch my toothbrush, necessitating the purchase of a new one. She could rub her wet self on computer equipment, ruining it. She could curl up to dry in the middle of my beanbag chair, leaving a horrible, greasy wet spot, which would always smell like rat. A rat in my apartment is a known variable, a livable risk. A wet rat, on the other hand, could do damage I haven't even thought of yet. It could prove slippery and unstoppable.

I think I'll just let her sleep.

If the thought of wet Stella isn't silly enough, here's another one for you: I was telling Gail about Stella's laziness today, and she said "Can you imagine if a monster crow came in and landed on her?"

Oh, man! Can I ever! Okay, so the windows are mostly shut nowadays, for the express purpose of excluding birds from my living room. But those crows, they're sneaky wee fuckers. One time, back when I lived out in Ontario, there was a tiny hole in my windowscreen, no bigger than a thimble. One summer's night, I was sat sitting at my computer, typing away at something or other, when I heard a sort of picking noise. I glanced over at the window, and there was a WHACKIN' GREAT HONKIN' CROW standing on the sill, enlarging the hole with his beak. I didn't figure he'd get too far, so I ignored him. Pretty soon, the picking sound turned into a groaning sound. I turned to look, and the crow was jamming himself in through the hole, head first! He was already through all the way to his shoulders, and wriggling like crazy. I tried to push him back out with my hands, but he bit me bloody. I didn't want to catch some crow disease, so I had to run off and find the rubbing alcohol. By the time I got back, he'd squeezed through, and was standing on the inside windowsill! Cheeky wee prat! He went back out again when I waved my arms at him, but the damage was done: the whole screen had to be replaced.

Anyhow, if a crow wanted to come in here, all he'd need to do is shove in his shoulders, then wriggle and jiggle the rest of the way. He would fit, with a little effort. He'd pop out of the windowcrack like a cork from a champagne bottle, and immediately get tangled up in the blinds. For a moment or two, he'd squawk and thrash, and then the blinds would unsnarl, and he'd flap messily to the floor. Except, of course, it wouldn't be the floor. It would be Stella on the floor, and the crow on Stella! Squawk! Skeek! TussletussletussleBITE! SQUAWK! PECK! SKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Then, the crow would beat a hasty retreat, minus several feathers and a toe. Stella would bear her stolen crow parts off in triumph, burying them in the squalid mess that passes for her nest. I would sit here in my chair, yelling in a bewildered sort of way. Later that afternoon, I'd find myself obliged to take Stella to the vet, in case she'd caught a crow disease, and also clean out her cage to get rid of any infected crow parts.

Yeah, I can imagine it. That would be fun, aside from the vet part. Now, I almost wish a crow would plunk its fat self down on Stella. At the very least, I'm throwing a paper aeroplane at her. Fat snoozing rodents, beware!