Silence of the Rats

Hho’kay – so – this is the deal, see… this gets graphic. So don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Now, when I got Shaun his bearded dragon back in, what, 2010 (?), it was kinda this unspoken agreement thing between us that, when Forty became… "of age"… or whatever – that is to say, when Forty got big enough to where he’d be needing a little more sustenance than crickets and lechuga, I would not, could not, EV’AR, be the one to… well … give it to him. I’m sorry. I just can’t. I get it – circle of life – it’s natural – sure. But ever since I grew attached to this fluffy little lop eared bunny a few years back only to watch in horror as a friend’s snake devoured the poor thing, I’ve vetoed bearing witness to the eating of all food-stuffs of the fuzzy variety by the reptilian population.

Things were going great. Swell, even, you could say. Started off with the baby mice, graduated to the rat pinkys – progress was made. Shaun’d go down and get the goods, bring ’em on home, I’d exit the room, and Forty would feast like kings. 

Blissfully in denial, I was. 

Until now. 

A little over a week ago, Shaun found a job (fucking hooray man, you have no idea). Only problem is, it’s waaaay over on the other side of fucking LA, right? Just a little over 70 miles from the homestead. Takes him almost three hours to drive home, and by the time he finally does get home, the reptile store’s long been locked down.

Dragon’s gotta eat, yo.

I made it home in record time for a Friday today. An hour before closing. So I decide I’m gonna save the day and all and stop on in – figure I’d pick up my usual twenty large crickets and head on home. No problemo.

But fuck if I’m gonna get out of it that smoothly, right? Yeah. Just had to call Shaun first to double check (that’s what I get for being so goddamn thorough). He practically begged me to pick up a baby rat, saying it was imperative to Forty’s diet and all and really pouring it on thick, bringing up the 109 degree heat we’ve have here the past few days and all that jazz. Hung up cursing myself and wondering how in the hell I’m gonna pull this off. 

I figure – fuck it man – I’ll fake it. I got this. Mind over matter like a straight up gangsta.

So I pull up to the shop, take a deep breath, and finally hold my head up and walk into the joint lookin like I’m a goddamn warrior. Approach the counter and sing out something along the lines of, "Top of the eve’nin Eric, how goes my favorite reptile enthusiast? I’ll have twenty large crickets and a rat pinky to-go, ole’ chap."

Or something like that.

But inside I’m thinking – don’t let me see it, don’t let me see it, good god Eric, please don’t let me see the poor thing…!

And you’d have to know Eric to get the full effect – this, I don’t know, 5’7", husky, fast talking 27 year old with wavy, dirty-blond hair that goes down to his ass and a hard-on for all things gaming related. I love talking to the kid because you never know where the conversation will go and man – kid fucking loves to talk. For days. 

And today was no different. Started with the heat, idle chit chat, and moved into people refusing to believe that this shithole (otherwise known as Riverside) is actually, you know, a fucking desert and shit gets hot. That moved into talking about other hot desert places. And other desert places that aren’t so hot. And that, in fact, some desert places are fucking cold. All the time. Like freezing. Antarctica, actually. And it just so happens that Eric is something of an Arctic enthusiast, as well, because he then proceeded to tell me all about the center of the coldest place on Earth and how many hundreds of miles per hour the wind blows there and the stance you’d have to hunker down into if you were to try to walk through it, which then led us into a discussion about the thousands of miles per hour wind they’ve clocked on planets like Uranus and how cool it is to check out the pictures from Curiosity and other little fun fact dittys that I would have been utterly fascinated to discuss if it weren’t for the fact that I couldn’t keep my eyes off the goddamn little brown paper sack that contained this spritely, infantile rat that was soon to be Forty’s dinner as it be-bopped and rustled it’s way across the fucking counter top, completely unaware of it’s imminent demise.

*sigh*

Three dollars and thirty-nine cents later, Eric and I bid each other a raging weekend and luck with the heat and he hands over the crickets and the tiny rat just before it blindly kamakazied it’s way onto the floor.

… do you have any idea… what it feels like to be driving home, carefully, so as not to traumatize and torture the poor rat before sending it off to its death, only to have a song like Flogging Molly’s "If I Ever Leave This World Alive" come on through the shuffle and just… slap you in the fucking face as if to say – HA! You, vegetarian, may have foiled Life by abstaining from eating the meat for damn near a decade, but you better bet your ASS Life’s gonna guilt you on this one while it has the chance!!!

MUAHAHA, and all that shit.

I actually apologized to a brown paper sack, yo, before switching it over to Bob Marley.

Anyhow, I finally make it home.

Up until this point, I’ve managed to not actually see the baby rat. I’m thinking, hey – maybe if I go all strategerie on this endeavor, I might not actually ever have to, hey?

I think to myself – self, if you can maybe distract Forty with the crickets, you just might be able to get the rat in there with your eyes closed and high tail it out of the room before any of the things know what hit ’em.

So I do my thing – coat the crickets with the vitamin powder, sprinkle ’em in and – okay, I know what you’re thinking and yes, I am a horrible human being because I apparently value the life of a rat over the life of twenty fucking crickets, I know – it’s deplorable. Anyway, I get the crickets in there and Forty goes all instant predator. Score.

And then comes the brown paper sack. 

Still remember the off-kilter feel of the unequal weight distribution and thinking about how the poor thing must be scared shitless and posted up all crouching tiger like in the far corner of the bag…

Remove the staple with what’s left of my almost non existent, bitten down finger nail.

Open the tank door.

Ease the sack inside.

Close my eyes.

Tip.

And shake.

Aaaaannnddd…. shake.

Peak.

Nothing.

Close eyes and shake again.

Nothing’s happening.

Little guy rejects fate, holding on for dear life, and I’m now picking up on Forty’s spidey senses as he stops mid pounce on a cricket and focuses all attention on my corner of the smorgasbord. 

And it was then that I opened my eyes, at the exact same time the rat rolls out of the little brown sack and lands vulnerably on his back in the midst ofthis make-shift desert landscape.

There was simply no time for action.

My brain registered everything at once – that this tiny, hairless rat resembled the fetal pig I had to dissect in the ninth grade mixed with a little moo-cow, that my plan to distract Forty with crickets had been foiled by my inability to pull off a reverse smash and grab maneuver, and that he had the thing dangling face first in his mouth before I could even get the door shut and secured.

And then it happened. I’ll never forget it. It was…. it was almost as if I had been awoken from a dream…

I heard a strange noise… 
What was it? 
It was… screaming. Some kind of screaming, like a child’s voice. 
What did you do? 
I tried to close my eyes. I tried to look away. I was so scared to look inside, but I had to. 
And what did you see, Erin? What did you see? 
The rat. The rat was screaming. 
Forty was biting the head off a thumb sized, spotted baby rat? 
And it was screaming. 
And you ran away? 
No. At first I thought to free him. I… I opened the door wider, but I knew it could no longer run. His little feet just dangled there, helpless. He couldn’t run. 
But you could and you did, didn’t you? 
Yes. I closed and locked the door, and I ran away as fast as I could. 
Where were you going, Erin? 
I don’t know. I didn’t have a plan – no diversion, no weapon. And it was very hostile. Very hostile. I thought, I thought if I could have just taken it back, made it like it never happened, but… he was so helpless. So helpless. I didn’t get more than a few seconds before Forty had reacted. And he was so keen on getting to the rat, there was no way I could have taken him back.
What became of your baby rat, Erin? 
He killed him. 

 
 

Oh man. Oh man. It was horrible. Horrible, I tell you. The snake and the rabbit all over again but a million times worse because this time it was me. It was fucking me and I did it and it’s all my fault, forever, until the day I die.

I…

That’s it. I’m done for. Scarred. A marked woman…

Things will never be the same.