Rats!

They're a good thing. And they've taken over my life. I'm not talking about the garbage-eating, suburb-infesting, gigantic, evil mud-brown ones; I'm talking about my pets. When I got my first one a year ago, I never imagined that I would be taking her to the vet, giving her twice-daily antibiotics, hanging out on rat-owner message boards, and making it my mission in life to educate the entire world on the total coolness of rat ownership. Oh, but I am.

But this post is actually about Paula. A little over three weeks ago, I was in the pet store and I walked by the back room and noticed the feeder tank had a few rats in it. I know myself all too well when it comes to "just looking" at pets, yet I still asked to be allowed back to do just that. I ended up taking home a black berkshire who I named Paula, and soon she was co-habitating peacefully with cagemates Nancy, Dash, and Rosie. Last week I looked at Paula and thought, "wow, she sure is fat!" Then she stood up and I realized that she wasn't fat - she was pregnant! Rats gestate for three weeks, so I wouldn't have known she was pregnant when I first got her, and besides, they really don't start to show significantly until the last few days.

So all of a sudden, I found myself scrambling for information, freaking out like a nervous dad. Through my acquaintances on the rat forum, I got the basics: separate her from the other rats. Build her a nesting/birthing cage. Feed her lots of extra protein and fatty stuff. Watch for the signs of labor and delivery. I went on Friday and got all the necessary supplies - an 18-gallon plastic storage tote, some aluminum screen, duct tape, white paper towels, and some super-soft bedding stuff. By Friday afternoon she was set up in her new digs and was nesting like crazy. All night on Friday I kept checking to see if she was in labor yet, but I couldn't tell. She looked like she was about to burst, and a few times I looked at her and she was actually grimacing. If you've never seen a rat grimace, it's quite a sight to behold, I'll tell you that much.

When I left for work at 6:00 Saturday morning, she was standing up and pressed up against the side of the tote. I didn't see any blood, but she looked really stressed out. And sure enough, when I got home from work a little after noon, she'd had the babies. All FIFTEEN of them. Yes, I said fifteen. One-Five. 15. So now I have 19 rats, and my house has become nothing but rat cages everywhere you look. Nancy and Dash are sick, so they're in quarantine in the big cage. Rosie is very unhappily living on her own in the medium cage. Paula and the babies are in the birthing tank. Eventually the babies' eyes will open and they'll start exploring, at which point I will have to move them all and play musical cages. Depending on how quickly they get adopted out, it's quite possible I may end up with more cages lining the perimeter of my house.

I guess I should be happy I got such a great deal. I mean, hell, I got 16 rats for the price of one. But now I have to find homes for them all.

Oh, and baby rats look like hippos.