The Life and Times of Whitey the Rat.
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The Life and Times of Whitey the Rat.
The bond between a boy and his rat can be as strong as the Rock of Gibraltar. A trip to the pet store with my then five-year-old son held an unexpected surprise. Of all the possible animal choices—the furry, the colorful, the aquatic, the avian, and, yes, even the reptilian—he had his heart set on a white rat.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “There are a lot of other animals to look at.” I need not have bothered with a diversionary tactic.
He stood firm in front of the rat display case and shook his head. It was clear his preference meant a lot to him. His attituded showed a proprietary interest in the rat, a connection and bonding, the beginning of a relationship that humans develop with their pets.
We bought the cage and the requisite paraphernalia: the exercise wheel, the water bottle, the food dish, and the nutritious rat-food pellets. In order to cater to the rodent’s sense of excitement and adventure, we outfitted the cage with a maze—clear, plastic interlocking tubes through which the animal could climb, satisfying an imagined need for travel and discovery. As we constructed the artificial rat kingdom, we felt good about the rat’s future enjoyment of his circumstances. If the rat could write a postcard to family and friends, he would have said, “My new place is amazing. You can’t imagine the life I’m living. Wish you were here.” After all, if we were the rat, wouldn’t we want these things? Of course we would.
The moment arrived for choosing the animal’s name. My youngster’s response was immediate: “Whitey!”
“Really?” I asked. “There are a lot of good names to consider.”
“I like Whitey.”
His confident response told me Whitey belonged to him. I didn’t argue the point. He had an emotional investment in the rat. Who was I to usurp that? I marveled at his dedication to an animal that many in this world would find unpleasant. His commitment never wavered.
After more than a year of living what I fancied was a satisfying rat life, growths appeared under the skin on Whitey’s back. On the trip to the veterinarian, trying to prepare my son for a sad outcome, I told him, “This doesn’t look good for Whitey.”
The vet told us the rat had a hidden background in laboratory experiments, ostensibly to find a cure for cancer. Whitey’s lifespan had come to an abrupt end. We said good-bye to the heroic rodent and left the office.
On the tearful ride home, we talked about Whitey’s life and what a good rat he was. After an appropriate period of mourning, I removed the cage from my boy’s room.
Nature had taken its course. A young man learned an early lesson about the cycle of life and the ultimate cost we bear for loving.
A sad, but realistic story. More people should understand the cycle of life so they aren't shocked when death comes. Those of faith know there is something more wonderful waiting for them in heaven. I don't know about rats?