"Tell him to march a thousand paces in that direction, and then he can take off the blind fold; we'll be gone..."

"... And he's to turn himself into the first allied patrol he comes across."
(Demon Rat War: Update #7)

"You gotta be kidding me, we're letting him go?"

"He's a POW, Reiben, can't take him with us."


FUBAR. That's what I was thinking, FUBAR.

I made a new friend last week. A new friend I dubbed Ratty, in honor of Mole's best friend in Kenneth Grahame's The Wind in the Willows. Rat activity has died down in the last week, but partly because I have gotten slack in my recon missions. I haven't had any laundry to do lately, and I've been busy with other real life situations (like making job contacts and doing some video-work for free; more on that later), so Rat-spying in the basement has been on my low list of priorities. That said, I've noticed that the packet of rat poison on the ledge to the crawlspace has disappeared. Chances are, the Demon Rat's bulk has knocked it over, just like he did the glue traps, but I suppose it is possible they dragged it off to their nest and are now dying comfortably in some god-awful corner of darkness.

All but one, anyway. When I went downstairs the other day, I found a Rat in the Have-A-Heart trap next to the dryer. Alive. He was the smaller, brown Rat I mentioned in my last update. And he seemed weak and feeble, like maybe he had a little too much rat poison to eat earlier that day.

So here are my options:

1. I release him into the wild and let him die on his own. Perhaps an owl or cat will pick him off before he keels over.

2. I keep him in the cage until he dies (if he did in fact ingest rat poison).

C. If rat poison has not been ingested, I leave him in the cage to starve to death.

And finally,
5. I shoot him in the head and end his misery.

I called my father to ask his opinion, and he said the Rat was probably weak and feeble from jumping around, trying to escape, and if I let him out into the wild, he will most likely head back to the house to terrorize us later. So he left the options up to me. Well, I didn't feel like shooting a caged animal, and by the time my dad called me back, the sun had gone down and it was pretty dark. So I didn't feel like letting him go either.

But hey, a friend just called and she's down the street at a local bar. There's another option to pursue! So I go to Jackalope Jack's, meet Jennifer and Erica, Trent meets us over there later, we have a few drinks, watch some people embarass themselves at karaoke, and a good, merry time was had by all.

Two AM rolls around and I'm back at home, still contemplating what to do with the Rat. My friend Mary has convinced me over Instant Messenger that letting him go is the humane thing to do. But it's daaaaaark, I don't wannna go outside in the cooooold. So I gotta make sure he survives 'till morning, right? Right? So, I... I go upstairs and grab a handful of cereal, then I kinda stumble back down in the basement and toss some corn flakes his way, a few pieces of dried strawberry and blueberry for fruity goodness.

Hey Mikey, he likes it! He chows down, even accepting flakes from my fingers. Woohoo, Ratty is eating. Yes, I'm calling him Ratty now. He's in a cage, in my basement, I own him, he is mine. He is Ratty.

(Okay, enough pseudo-drunk talk for effect, let's get down to business.)

I also fetched a small saucer, often used for soy sauce and wasabi when eating sushi, and fill it with water so he will be hydrated when the sun comes up. He drinks from this too. And now I can go to bed with a clear conscience that I haven't killed a trapped Rat that had a chance for a happy life elsewhere (just not in my house).

Morning comes around (or I should say, 1 in the afternoon), and Ratty is still alive. I feed him some more, so he has energy enough to escape his release later on, and then put him in the car. I drive down to my mom's house, which is three houses down the street, and take my camera.

I get my mom because I want to show her my new "pet". She agrees he's kinda cute up close. Cept for that tail. Those nasty, thick, scaley, sickly pinkish-brown tails that creep us all out. After a few pictures and a warning in which I inform Ratty that if he is to come back in my house, I won't hesitate to shoot him, I open the cage and release him back into the wild.

I say, "I open the cage and release you back into the wild. Go on. Shoo. Get out of here... Uhm... Scat?"

I had expected Ratty to make a desperate run for it, a mad dash to the safety of the underbrush nearby. But no. Ratty just kinda falls out of the trap and sits there for a moment. Then he starts cleaning himself and preening. I'm hesitant, waiting any moment for him to take off in a flash, like they do in the basment. I'm on my guard, in case he turns on me and tries to scramble up under my pants leg.

But no, Ratty just looks at me. If anything, he looks like he's taking a few steps towards me. What does he expect, more food? "Go on! Get outta here!" I cry. But it's no use. He isn't bothered by the bright sunlight. Or the dogs barking nearby. Or the fact that he has two large humans standing over him at the edge of a parking lot. He's just taking his time, doing his business, defiant in the face of his captors. Maybe he wants to march away proud, not cowering in fear.

Or maybe he's still shookup from being trapped in a cage all night. "Go west!" My mom cries. "Go west and be free, seek your fortune!"

Whatever, I can't waste anymore time on this. So I start making funny noises and wave my arms from side to side, dancing on one foot and then the other in his direction. I'm sure I'm making the stupidest face ever.

He isn't phased. Not until I crunch a dead leaf under my foot does he pick up the pace and actually hop a few steps away. So I crunch more and more leaves until he's finally spooked enough to reach the borders of the woods. But even then I have to make sure he's safe under a long mass of tangled weeds and dead leaves before I can leave him.

I kind of grew attached to Ratty, and was surprised by how tame he was once he was in the cage. He didn't cower like the Rats usually do in my presence, and he was willing to take food from my hands. I'd be lying to you if I didn't, for ONE moment, consider keeping him in my old snake terrarium as a pet. He really wasn't that ugly. Cept for that blasted Devil-tail.

I've read that Rats are easily tamed. They can distinguish between our languages (at least English, Dutch, and Japanese I think). And they're even being hailed as heroes for their landmine work in Africa.

It's the Helsinki Syndrome in effect.

"As in, Helsinki Sweden."

"...Uhh , Finland."

Well good luck buddy. It's a big, wide world out there. I should have tagged your tail so I'd know it's you if we come face to face again in the basement. But for your sake, I would hope that we don't.

--Cbake


Cbake Is Willard