Rudyard is No Good

Natalie told me this morning that Rudyard woke her up last night. When she brought him back to the cage, she noticed part of the surrounding fence was pinched in enough that he could have climbed atop the cage and jumped off into freedom.

Naturally, she fixed the fence and went back to bed.

When I awoke this morning, I discovered Rudyard not just on top of his cage, but with both his paws on the pinched-in bit of the surrounding fence.

Bastard! He's realized that he can nudge the fence appropriately while on the floor before climbing on the cage and leaping over.

Because I was going to work, the only thing I could think to do was fix the fence and close up the side doors on the cage that allowed access to the roof.

Bastard Rudyard doesn't give a shit. He'll scale that cage side like its a mountain and he's a mountaineer. Then he'll jump over the fence he had manipulated earlier and Freedom Is He.

I got home from a very long day at work and counted two ferrets in the cage. I looked all over the house trying to find my deaf boy, knowing that calling out his name and shaking the treat bag was a waste of time.

I noticed the cats weren't upset, so he couldn't be in any of the rooms they were in. Ultimately I figured that he would get tired and go to sleep in a familiar place, like my room. I couldn't find him there either.

I brought MoMo and Jack to my room, knowing that they needed to get out too, and tried not to panic. Still feeling the insane adrenaline rush I had gotten from work, staying calm was ridiculously difficult.

I noticed MoMo and Jack were very curious about the closet. I know I've got some folded up curtains in there, so I felt around for a soft fuzzy. No such luck.

I traversed the house once more.

Don't panic. No panicking allowed.

But my brain kept thinking, Oh God, what if he's hurt? Oh God, what if he's somehow made it outside? Oh God, what if I never find him again until I move out and he's dead and I don't think I could handle that right now--

Stop.
Calm down.
Get out your flashlight.

Check under the bed.
Check around the house.
One more time in the closet? Jack's really insisting.

With the flashlight, I find Rudyard bundled up and sleeping deep in the curtains. I grab him to see if he's okay.

Hey Mom. What's up. I'm kinda sleepy. Can I go back in the blankets now? You look upset, I'm going to give you all these kisses to make you feel better.

I know it is in a ferret's nature to test their boundaries and pursue farther. Adventure and Curiosity, that's the ferret way! But Rudyard, it is YOU that will have to explain to MoMoBella and Jack why all the doors to the cage are closed and why your fellow weasels are not allowed outside the fenced-in exterior.

And when you have hissy-fits, I will shake my head and say, "Sorry baby. This is for your own good."

Cos it is.

It's for my own good too, because if anything ever happened to you, you little dubious shit-head bastard, I don't know what I would do with myself.

Weasel Victory

I love it when the weather's cold
'Cause I get to take out my grandpa's robe.

It's snuggly and warm and covered in moose
Long and blue, it disappears my caboose.

But the thing of my favorites, what I like most of all
Are the super sleepy ferrets that sleep in this shawl.

They pocket themselves right next to my tummy,
wrapped up in their sleepiness, looking so funny.

They lick their faces clean and are undeniably cute
Inside my grandpa's robe, not even stealing a boot.
(They like boots a lot)

So Hurrah! This is a Weasel Victory!
For cuddly-time can be trickery!

But this time is great, its true, it's gold.
Not these weasels nor myself are bound to get cold.

On the Move

It feels like I'm always moving around, but hopefully this next move will keep me still for a while. I can't afford to move constantly and I have sooooo much stuff.

AND I'm going to do what I can so I don't have to rent out a moving van. BLEGH. I have used one-to-many a Uhaul over the years and while they sure are fun to drive, their prices really hit me hard.

Even when you're doing it cheap, moving is pricey. Think of all the start-up bills you have to deal with-- power, water, and if you want internet you have to pay that one too. Pet fees are always crazy and if you move often you have to pay those often. They can almost sometimes be as much as a rent check. Yikes.

Fortunately, the place that Eddy and I are about to inhabit is pretty inexpensive and they'll allow us to pay those nasty pet fees in pieces. But because rent is half off the first month, we may actually be able to pay all of our ridiculous start-up-fee expenses without going too overboard.

On a totally different side-note, Effie's Club Follies is going to be going the midnight showings of Gonzorrific Films this Saturday at Cine.

I am super duper pumped about this, mostly because I'm involved with Effie's and they worked with Gonzorrific for a great horror flick. But also, as I've gotten to know Andrew Shearer and his work, I really like and respect what he does. Plus he's a such a super sweet nice guy, and it's awesome that he makes horror movies.

Tumors

 My rat boys are about a year and a half (they will turn two years in February, but I'm  not good at precise calculations, so we'll say a year and one half).

I haven't gotten any good group shots since they were wee little ratlings. Looking above, its hard to tell who is who, really.

Well, with age comes complications. This is true for most things in life.

While complications could simply mean things like "more responsibility" in the human world, typically in the critter world it doesn't translate the same way.

A couple months ago, I found a tumor underneath Link's right arm. I think it's actually attached to his chest.


Today, I found a small spot on Darcy's chest. At first I thought it was a nipple, but realized quickly it was in the wrong place for that.

The average lifespan of a rat is anywhere from 3-5 years. That's a huge difference in rat years!

And sometimes it doesn't matter how well you treat them or care for them. At some point in their small and tight lifespan, they are going to be more likely to get a tumor. Rats and tumors go hand-in-hand, it seems. It is not uncommon for one's pet rat to get a tumor.

While not all tumors are "bad" (there are rats who will have benign tumors) it does ultimately suck. And what really sucks is that you can't always afford to get it removed, whether its benign or not.

A friend of mine in the Vet degree at UGA once took a look at my sister's rats a few years ago. They were growing tumors and Audrey was worried about them. What should she do? Michelle said that you could go to the UGA vet school and get them lopped off for about $100. While $100 isn't too bad, it's still money that you don't always have right away.

And I know some people say if you can't afford the vet bills you shouldn't even "own" a pet (I put "own" in quotations because I don't like saying I "own" my pets; mothers don't describe "owning" their children). I don't really want to get into that whole debate.

This post is mostly about how sad I am that at this moment in my life, I can't get rid of these tiny little things growing out of my children's chests. It doesn't bother them and it may never bother them. I've seen tumors go bad and I've seen tumors have zero effect on the lifestyle of the rat. Either way, it sucks. They're getting older and that's hard to accept.