Last night, after much discussion, we decided that we will probably not take Nin to the Ontario Veterinary College next month. The tumors/growths on her thyroid are still there, and she is still my favourite little rattie, but neither Coffee nor I like the idea of experimental surgery. There are no case histories of rats with thyroid problems and there is no procedure in place to remove the lumps and anything they do will be spontaneous.
I just can’t do it to her.
We have a month to make that final decision, though, so I won’t cancel the referral until we get closer to the scheduled date. A month is a very long time in the life of a rat.
In the meantime, I’ll continue feeding her all her favourite foods and letting her snuggle up in my cleavage (which is, by the way, the best! place! ever! for napping) and I’ll keep filling her cage up with fantastic toys and things to destroy. She will continue to destroy those things and eat like a pig and snuggle in my cleavage and, if the time comes that she can’t do those things, we will help her to the great rat den in the sky.
It breaks my heart. It totally breaks my heart.
But I’m not going to tell her that, of course. I am going to keep referring to her as, “you little maniac!” and poking her in the belly every chance I get. If she figures out that she can get the sympathy vote, it’s only a matter of time (minutes, seconds..) before she’s eating only junk food, watching terribly un-educational television, and hanging out with the ne’er-do-wells outside the local convenience store. Chain smoking, no doubt. Convincing me that she NEEDS a new hammock (and perhaps a Barbie Corvette) because all the OTHER rats have one. And if I deny her? I’ll have to hear the, “But I’m sick! I might be dying!” wails. She’s like that – a rattie hooligan.
Anthropomorphization is both a curse and a blessing, lemme’ tell ya.