Miracle
Nezumi-chan is a fancy rat. Branden adopted her shortly after I got my apartment in Reynoldsburg. A co-worker’s was threatening to feed her to a snake if no one took her in. Her name was a placeholder until we came up with a better one, and since we never did she remained most unpronounceable for our friends and family.
I never really dug Branden’s rats. I’m a cat person. Tiny clawed and clammy feet crawling around my neck don’t do it for me. But I tried to be supportive and find the cute side of vermin. It was easier with Nezumi-chan, since she was so adorable and cute when we first got her. Much cuter than the homoerotic antics of Branden’s balls-dragging boy rats Poke and Peek. She would chase our fingers up and down her cage and dangle from the wire ceiling like Lara Croft. She never squeaked, either.
Fast forward to last month. Nezumi-chan, now our only rat, loses weight rather quickly and gets stuck in the tower of her castle in her cage. Two weeks ago, I notice she is dragging herself around her cage by her forepaws. After careful observation and research, we come to the conclusion that she is old and experiencing paralysis as is usual with elderly rats.
Any dying creature pulls at my heartstrings like no cute ‘n cuddly baby fluffball can. So I set up a regimen of high-protein, high-calorie feedings (peanut butter and pretzels, morning and night,) daily bathing, (she likes to play in the water) and physical therapy. Every night when I come home from work I wash her off in the sink and gently work her back legs while her fur is drying. I take each clammy, clawed foot between my fingers and rotate her joints like she is riding a bicycle. I stretch and push her legs, constrict her toes and even give her spine a gentle rat massage to stimulate blood flow.
Friday evening we sat outside enjoying the sunset and I looked down at her peanut butter smeared whiskers, tiny feet in my fingers, and realized I was projecting all of my maternal impulses onto a dying rat. And I told her thus while she chewed on her teeth, a sign of relaxation in rats, and that I wasn’t certain how wise it was to tie my emotions so closely to the fate of a dying rat. I apologized for not getting to know her like this sooner, because she is a beautiful rat, even when underweight and gimpy.
She gave me a squeak of contentment in response.
This morning I went in to check on her, as always preparing myself to see her stiff and lifeless. Instead, I saw her sitting on her haunches. This is irregular recently, since she can’t support her weight on her back legs and instead lies on her back or drags herself around Rambo-style. I called her name and she darted over to the side of the cage and climbed up the side to greet me.
I screamed for Branden. He thought she was dead and came running to help, only to see me pointing and gaping. Nezumi-chan promptly fell off the side of the cage and toppled a few times, but her legs were moving behind her, scooting her along as they had failed to do for the last two weeks.
Who says love doesn’t heal all wounds?
Now she is still going to die and probably sooner rather than later. Her legs are working, but only at about 30%. Still, this has to be the most beautiful validation I’ve ever experienced. My love and devotion is not worthless nor misplaced. And when it comes time, I won’t absolutely suck at being a mom.
