Rat Roadhouse

The year was 1996. I was living in a military town in NC. A friend on the base had a pet snake. My first husband received a call about a baby rat that the snake had refused to eat for two days. The rat was crying and the guy (Mr. Big Bad Marine) couldn't put the little thing out of it's misery. We drove to base to take care of it.

I wanted no part of this. I sat in the car and waited. About ten minutes later down the steps came a baby "pinkie" rat in his anxious hands. He couldn't do it either. This little guy had no fur, his eyes weren't even open yet, and all he knew of the world was coldness. We drove to the local pet store to find out what to do to save it. We were told that since it had been two days there wasn't any chance the mother would take it back. I could not bear to feed it to one of their snakes. I also could not dare to leave an animal suffering.

They advised me on the care of an orphaned rat. I spent days feeding this little guy with an eyedropper, cleaning him with baby wipes, keeping him on my chest or in my hands at all times. I named him Rocky for the fight he had to endure. After three days of fighting, he died while I slept. We buried him outside and I cried.

Copyright 2004, Jacinta Sousa
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