The last few days have not been good.
I don’t know what it is. I would love to be able to point and say that such-and-such is making me anxious and out of sorts, but I can’t. Hormonal flux? Rough week at work? I don’t know. The last few days at work have been exercises in “how many ways can I screw up.” I am feeling full of failure although I recognise that this isn’t accurate, either.
I’ve come out to my mother’s house to housesit while she’s gone for the weekend. I will go home today but I haven’t yet. I’m feeling a bit paralysed with anxiety. Paced a bunch in the kitchen before I could bring myself to eat, and I must eat, since I need to have food in my stomach for the cipralex. I ought to take a seroquel, maybe, but with a twenty minute drive into town I’m hesitant to take it for fear of being dopey on the drive.
I did some housesitting for both my parents earlier this month. watching animals, and it really hit home for me just how much I miss having animals around. I can’t have pets where I live, at least not cats or dogs. Not that it would be fair to keep a dog where I live — we don’t have a proper fence — and Audrey, who owns the house, feels cats are too destructive. I think this is nonsense, really. Nevertheless, she was firm on it.
But I managed to face bringing up the subject with her, and we discussed things, and we met a compromise: I was granted permission for a small caged animal, a rodent.
I latched immediately onto a very old idea, one I’d dismissed for several reasons, and ended up getting a pair of rats.
This is the best idea I’ve had in ages.
They’re still getting used to me and the new situation, but they’re also genuinely engaging. They’re inquisitive, and affectionate, and we spend the evening snuggled down all three of us after we play a little. It’s ridiculously comforting to be curled up with one rat on my shoulder and the other settled in my lap or next to me. Yes, I get peed on a little, but I lay out what I’ve termed the Rat Blanket (an old blanket which I never really liked) and I wear old clothes, and the smell is pretty inoffensive, actually.
One is fairly fearless. Her sister is, I think, the runt of the litter, and is timid and afraid of everything, although she is certainly warming up to me, which is nice. It’s strange to see that terror in a rat, because it mirrors my own. Is that strange to say? Unreasoning fear that goes beyond the healthy sense of caution any small animal must have.
I worried about the larger, bolder rat picking on her runty sister, or monopolising the food, but luckily neither of these seem to be the case, and the most trouble they have together is when the bigger of the pair wants to play and the little one would rather sleep. But they snuggle, and they get along, and it’s wonderful.
They’re a ridiculous source of joy for me right now. I get up in the morning, looking forward to a rat kiss, a friendly nose-touch through the cage. I love the feeling of one of them snuggling down under my chin, that sort of warmth and trust.
I am looking forward to seeing them this afternoon when I go home. I want to be able to coax the little one out of her fear, although I know all too well that likely she’ll always be timid, and prefer napping. And that’s okay. I love them both as they are. They accept me as I am.
And that’s strange. My mother is horrified by rodents in general; my father is interested but I doubt he would expect that sort of affection from a rodent.
Audrey loves them almost as much I do. Rats really are good pets.
I feel better thinking about them, actually. That’s how good it is to have animals in your life.