Certainly, there are a few of you out there who remember Rattus, my first darling li’l rodent pal. A devout local music fan and unrepentant gadabout, she rarely would allow me to go out to the clubs without her, making her intentions known by running up as I attempted to leave the house, hopping atop my shoe and them in one fluid motion jetting straight up to perch atop my shoulder, ready for a nice drive and some serious club-hopping. Never shy at introducing herself to new people, she would leap from shoulder to shoulder among the barflies at the Electric Lounge, sampling the beers of any and all who would offer, yet never getting loud nor surly nor displaying any telltale signs of hangover the following morning. Given the rat’s short average life span of two to three years, it should be no surprise that Rattus is no longer with us, nor that I have shared my residence with some 10 or 12 of her cousins in the years since. More affectionate than cats, yet falling far short of the slavishness of a dog, for my money (around five bucks or so) there simply is no finer companion animal on the planet than a rat. Cuddly, curious, and comical, they’re like nothing so much as kittens that never grow up. They’re also low-maintenance (they can live on garbage, for crying out loud!), and unlike, say, a ferret, once they’ve settled into your home, they rarely have the slightest interest in attempting to seek adventure outdoors without you. Oh, occasionally you’ll run into a troublemaker who just can’t keep from gnawing every cord in the house (these tend to have notably shorter life spans on average) or even, rarely, a gal who just plain refuses to become part of the family (usually this is because so-called pet stores rarely treat their rats as proper pets and don’t give them nearly enough snuggling at an early age). Overall, though, you just can’t beat ’em — rats, the pet that’s portable and always (yes, always) ready to play. A sad footnote about “Spotacus,” the cutie you see here checking my ear for punk rock damage. After I was asked to write this featurette, I noticed she was not in her cage. Apparently, a drunken guest had taken her out to play the night before, locked her out of her cage, and knocked the screen out of the adjacent open window. My assumption is that she slipped and tumbled outside while trying to return to her home, falling prey to the numerous neighborhood cats whose thoughtless “owners” allow them free rein of our yard. I never saw her again.
This article appears in January 21 • 2000.