Hoo boy, this will be long.
I come from a country background, more or less, and animals have always been a big part of my life, pets and otherwise. There really hasn't been a time I haven't had a pet of some sort, and I find the idea of a pet-less life abhorrent. If I had to pick between a life partner or pets for the rest of my life, I'd go for the animal every time. That's how my life's always been, that's how it's going to be. A pet provides so very much joy. A pet's there for anyone who needs a friend. Unjudging, loving, and just so very calming.
And yet, there's the flipside to that. Most animals, sadly, aren't made to live as long as we are. There's that bittersweet fact that from the moment you take an animal into your life, you're condemned to feel the pain of losing it sooner or later. And yet, that's just something you have to accept, simply because even with that pain, it'll be all worth it.
Our first pet was a dog. A big rottweiler *****. She was already old when I was born, and I was less than four years old when she had to be put down. I remember the whole thing well, even if I was too young to really comprehend it. She was a good one, Helga, never minded even though we were practically begging for a bite with all our stupid shit.
Our next pet, well, he was mine. Yeah, the cat might have been intended for the whole family, but there was never any question whether he was mine. He was the cat you'd have wanted as a kid. He was the fierce beast, he was the best little kitty ever. And he was the toughest sonnuvabitch from the most abused background you could imagine. He was huge. He was that alley cat you see and quite honestly would be afraid to approach with a shotgun. We're talking about a cat that chased, honest to god, a pitbull, through sheer bloody ferocity, around when it made the mistake of thinking any natural order applied to this thing. And he was really, really happy with a life where nobody was trying to shoot him or hit him or kick him. At least, content with me, a little boy still in grade school. We let him run free in the stables, in the summer cottage, and you know what? Every time I called him, he came running back. He had now leash, no name tags, no nothing. He was under no obligation to return. He was an excellent hunter, and he could have lived no matter what. And yet, every time I called, he came. Tail up, pushing against my leg. He was my cat, and he was the toughest, meanest cat ever. How mean? I'll tell you: the stables we went to back then had plenty of cats. Uncut toms, big things with torn ears and a mad look. I witnessed them all going at it once. Under a tour bus, they all went. And my little kitty cat, my murderer, rushes in screaming bloody murder. A few chaotic seconds, and it's like a clown car with all the running cats. I remember that really, really well. He patted out like it was no big deal.
Kisse had to be given away when we moved to a new place. He found a home on a certain stable. It was sad, really, but I got to see him one time more after that. Honest to god, he'd grown into a monster. A thick, robust, thick-pelted (for that was what he had, no fur, a pelt) thing made of bricks. I hear he ran away from the place at some point. They say he might have gotten hit by a car. No word if the car survived.
Then we got two guinea pigs. I never really appreciated the things, sadly enough.
Around the same time we got our second dog. A crossbred almost dalmatian. Damn, did that dog turn out great. I swear, you've never seen a dog so praised and adored, so very sweet and kind. She's still going, and great for her age, but I hear she's starting to show the years. All 14 of them. Here's hoping she's got some good years left.
And seven years back we got a retarded Jack Russel terrier. The retardation was unintentional, but still rather palpable. We think she's starting to, ever so slowly, comprehend the concept of her own name. The concept of being house-trained still eludes her, despite the best efforts.
And then, there's the rats. Now, I could go on forever about my rats. Literally, I could. Take me up on that some day. The first thing to say that every good and bad thing about pets is thrown into the extreme in rats. They're wonderful, there's simply no way to deny that. They're dogs, if dogs were small and wanted to nibble on things and then kiss you and climb onto your shoulder and sleep in your hoodie pocket. Rats are the most incredibly underapreciated pet there is, and nobody who's ever actually gotten to know my rats has ever walked out without eating their words about "horrid, diseased vermin". And yet, rats are so very, very mortal. Their time is limited. They're the nature's cruel joke, really. The most incredible, smart little things, with more personality than most people, and two to four years is all you can get. You'll learn to love each and every one in a month, and then they're just taken, because that's the way it is. It's unfair, it's cruel, it's the way it is. Being a rat owner is learning to take every good thing you can get to the fullest, without reservation, and bearing all the bad things that will come. To be a rat owner is to really learn to hold so very tight, and let go when the time comes.
The rats were my first real, my-money-my-responsibility-from-beginning-to-end pet. I begged and pleaded for months. I blackmailed and I bribed. I bitched and moaned. I slowly eroded my mother's resolve. And finally, on that one summer day, we fetched two little boys from a breeder. Oxu and Gentti. How very, very happy I was. No other animal, not even Kisse, the cat-beast, compared to these critters. I never, ever neglected (or neglect) my rats. I cleaned, I cared, I loved, and they loved me back so very, very much.
It all went a bit nasty a year later. See, Gentti had always been a timid thing. But something just went wrong in his little head. He tried to kill Oxu the best he could, and me, being an amateur rat owner and acting on instinct, stuck my hand in there. Nothing ever, not that axe to my foot, not that broken finger, nothing has hurt as much as a rat biting into the bone, through a nerve cluster, trying to rip and tear as much as possible because he thinks it's another rat. The pain quite literally dropped me on my knees. Still have the scar, still feels really bad to touch that spot. Gentti was put down sometime after when he couldn't really manage living alone, and was all too troubled to get a friend. I cried more than ever. I buried him myself.
Oxu lived for a year and a half more, with two new little rats to keep him company. His end was a lot less pretty. He got old, and tried to get into some budding tumor. The problem was, that tumor was somewhere in his gut. For a week, I made sure he didn't kill himself, I bandaged and fed him by hand, I watched day and night. I made sure his adopted sons (to keep him company, he was all for friends even if Gentti had gone mad) didn't bother him. But it was his time. He rests next to his brother.
And now it gets sad. See, I had two rats now, Nuhveli and Alavatsa (that's Lower Abdomen for those interested, it's a long story). And just happens that one day, I'm window-shopping in a pet store. I spot this most incredible dumbo rat. This little thing that looks like he's going to kiss you to death. You know how it goes. "Could I have a look at that rat, miss? Oh, right, just looking. Well, you know, I don't have much space at the moment. Oh, I guess it's true. Well, I GUESS I could have another rat. Oh, right, of course he needs a friend. Yeah, that calm little one looks just fine. Oh yeah, I'll take a new water bottle and some bedding, too."
The dumbo got named Issa, and his impromptu friend Auvo. Had I known, I would have slapped the woman then and there for offering me Auvo. See, little Auvo was this tiniest, sweetest, kindest, bestest little rat ever. Sure, he sneezed once or twice as I drove home, but rats do that. Just some antibiotics and it's all fine, right? Well, no.
Auvo kept sneezing despite the antibiotics. Slowly it got worse. Slowly he detoriated. He got taken to the vet more times than I can remember. Slowly his rampant case of mycoplasma turned into an inner-ear infection and he couldn't walk. I poured money into this little rat for twenty times his monetary worth. Antibiotics were switched. It got better for a while. Then it got worse. I did all I could. I was ready to do anything to make sure Auvo would live. And yet, this is what you learn, sooner or later: life's a ***** sometimes. No matter how you scream and struggle, some things will be lost. I learned that then and there. Auvo spent three months with me. He was the sweetest rat ever. He was scared and flailing uncontrollably when the needle was finally given. The pet store didn't give any compensation. And life went on.
(stopping for tears a bit. It's hard recalling this.)
So, Issa was alone. And turns out the two older boys I have don't like this new one. Also turns out Issa is really the most incredibly mellow rat ever, and introducing two new boys to him was as easy as putting the rats into his cage. He didn't even challenge the little pups. He smelled them, looked at me, licked the babies and then went to see if there was anything to eat. It all got better as it went on.
I moved away from home to study. Nuhveli and Alavatsa were old. They didn't have long anyway. Alavatsa had a tumor and was losing weight and couldn't breathe so good any more. So they got a quick, nice, painless end to it instead of all the chaos and worry and stress of a long move from one place to another, and a new environment and all that. Nuhveli, ever the fighter, didn't submit well. The rat was huge, a king of rodents. The vet (a good one, she knew what she was doing, she'd done it to all the others and it was fast, painless) had to put more and more stuff into him to finally get him to realize it was ok to give up. She was sure something had gone wrong. But this was just an insanely tough rat.
And now I live in a good little apartment with my three rats, the older Issa and his two adopted sons, Möhmötti and Törppä. They'll be gone some day, too, but I'm not going to think about that. I'm going to think about all the great times that have been and will be. As with all the other magnificient animals I've had the honor of keeping.
So thank you to each and every of man's best friends I've held, and comforted, and laughed with, and played with, and cried over, and stressed over, and loved unconditionally and gotten loved by. Thank you for teaching me things about life my nonexistent father never could, about gaining and losing, and about the hard truths. Thank you for being there when the times were bad, and thank you for being the greatest, earnest friend I could ask for. There will never be a time my house won't have some of your kin, and that's a fact. And it's a fact that each and every one will live a life as good as I can make it, and as long as is humane. I promise no more and no less than my best efforts, for my pets deserve no less.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll have to go spread bran flakes all over the floor. Issa wants out of the cage.
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