Dad and I have always shared a wicked sense of humour. Like most families, we shared “in” jokes, ones that our only our shared histories could appreciate. We also shared an ongoing, decades and decades long appreciation of and shared amusement over rats.
It began with my guinea pigs. The noble guinea pig, beloved domestic rodent. An unexpected guinea pig landed in my classroom on a cold -30 degree celcius day. A school bus driver spotted an opportunity to bring some new excitement to a tough farm piggy’s life. Becky had had already lived long life, loved burrowing in farm field hay, and had even enjoyed a litter with her long predeceased husband Rupert. As a new teacher, I was keen to take up the challenge, bringing her into the fold as a classroom pet, teaching kids about the joys of living beings and fostering empathy. The only issue: Becky did not spend one night in the classroom, of course. I fell in love with her carrot-chomping ways instantly and brought her home to stay, although she enjoyed many 30-minute drives for day trips to the kindergarten classroom.
Below, sweet but tough Becky, accepting a treat:
Molly (later Mozart, and finally Mo, in a shocking gender twist) was soon to follow, and later my Moxie and Roxie. The last two came into my life during a particularly sad and heartsick time on a cold winter’s Valentine’s Day when I was seeking to bring joy into my life and love into my heart once more.
Christmases for the guineas were always celebrated on Orthodox Christmas, after the distractions of the bigger celebration two weeks earlier for the family. My Grandma Reade (with Duokhobor origins) would affectionately refer to Orthodox Christmas as “Little Christmas”, an affectionate nod to her background. Little Christmas and smol sweet beings were an obvious fit, and when describing the event to Dad I shortened it to “Ratmas”. My connection to rats was forever cemented.
Below, Mozart (Mo), and baby Roxie and Moxie, watched over by Grandma.
Dad loved making connections, especially connecting people close to him with their passions, interests, hobbies, and jokes. A wealth of rat newspaper clippings followed, and, in the 2000s, website links and YouTube videos. Every newsworthy rat made my inbox, bringing so many smiles and laughter over the years. Pizza rat? Yep. The rats driving vehicles? Of course. (and don’t even get me started about the Year of the Rat!)
Celebrating the rat in a rat-free province, (at least a province with no overt reproducing populations, cross border rats are quickly neutralized), was delightfully rebellious, of course, but our shared humour went deeper than that, I think. At the heart of it, I think Dad embraced my love for the vulnerable prey animal, and we both rooted for the much-maligned underdog (underrat, as it were). We both saw myself in my deeply sensitive, wired-to-fire guinea pigs – at times in sensory overload; often at odds in the world; and at risk of being misunderstood.
(And besides, who doesn’t love a feel good story about rats learning to drive miniature cars? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZO11r_8_Xe4)
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Yesterday (Sunday), while vacuuming (chores are one of the hardest; the toughest thoughts always come then, so do the tears), I was straightening up some other cherished gifts from Dad, and thought of this rat connection we had shared over the decades. I was deeply saddened I wouldn’t be receiving any more rat news, and thought about blogging about this oddity – to put it out in the universe, juuust in case friends or familiars wished to still send me (what would be thoroughly embraced) rat news. I put it on the backburner of my mind.
Today, I was attempting to catching up on a few posts from several weeks ago on Mastodon on a Monday morning coffee break. One of the first few posts I encountered in my feed was a link to a highly informational rat cartoon to explain how rats have a highly developed hippocampus. The synchronicity was pure delight. I took it as a good sign indeed that I was meant to write this ratty little post, and so here it is. ❤