Touched by a Rat

My goal was to have the living room completely clean and organized as a gift for my sister on her birthday. One darkened corner of the living room was particularly disgusting, which I chose to attack last, due to fact that unwanted houseguests had invaded during a long vacation when the house had been empty. (Some had two legs--the others, which followed--had four.)

So with a mask to cover my nose and willing hands, I set to work. I swept up large rodent droppings. I pulled out dust bunnies. I consolidated old pieces of cardboard, dated circulars, and wrapping paper. I then stared down at that creepy old cream-colored baby carriage, which had been stuffed with every un-necessary piece of junk imaginable. I was particularly put off by it because of the amazing diversity of crap in it--fabric scraps, clothing patterns, and bent plastic flower arrangements, among other things. I had to conjure up a certain degree of courage to attend to it. I dove right in, attacking layer after layer of difficult-to-reason-with clutter.

Then suddenly, my nose unexpectedly picked up an offensive odor. I passed it off and kept digging. There it was: The remains of a dead rat, perfectly in tact save for its flesh, perfectly laid across a miniature wooden rocking cradle. The wavy hair on it was so shiny, it glistened. "Like golden fleece," I thought. The small skull and coarse tail belied its gleaming costume. Just underneath the cradle was a large doll with rolling blue eyes and long auburn hair, covered in its droppings.

How gross, yet how moving.

Now you see, I don’t have an attraction to the macabre. I tend to avoid it at all cost. It had been clear that the rat was poisoned. But the tale the rat told was profound. In its last hours, the rat had gone to the most nurturing place it could find on the planet. And no question that it has been in pain. This really, truly bothered me. Poison was the preferred method of extermination for household invaders, and luckily two human females kept it from happening since I had moved in. You can guess who the second female was.

But the strange thing is, this rat hadn’t chosen a ratsy, nesty, dirty old corner behind some old shelving units or floorboards to die in. It went to the sweetest place of nurturing humanly imaginable. The wooden cradle was most likely a collectible, and it had probably been in a child’s hands, as had the doll, as had the baby carriage…all soaked with human sweat, salt, and body oils.

Well, there you have it. Although the rat’s life had clearly been forsaken by humans, it chose the most nurturing, loving symbols of humanity to expire in. That is how much animals love us.