We gained another rat today, sort of. It’s actually a hand puppet, and we had very little choice but to buy it. It’s a heart rat thing.
Heart rats are the special ones. Yes, they’re all special, but some come with an extra helping of special, and they’re heart rats. I’ve had a few, but the ones to affect me most were D.R. and Quinch. I’m not going to blog about them in lots of detail now – being the nerdy type, I plan to write about my rats in chronological order, which means you’ll have to wait a while to hear about their exploits. But they were special, for lots of reasons.
They were breeder rats – D.R. from Symphony, Quinch from Comis – and our first boys, not counted the two we had fostered a couple of years earlier. They were smart, funny and an inseparable pair. And they died at the start of this year, far too young, leaving me devastated and seriously considering not having more rats, because no-one could ever be that special again.
Last summer (while the boys were still very much with us) we went to the local village show and found, on one of the stalls, a hand puppet who looked very much like Quinch, which we had to buy. There was no black hand puppet D.R., so we had to buy a black rat stuffed toy instead. Today, at a local garden centre, we found the black rat hand puppet. There was only one thing for it…
I know the Quinch puppet doesn’t look brown in the photo but he is, really. We do have a small but growing collection of not-real rats, most of whom live on top of a bookcase in our living room:
The eagle-eyed may spot a cat and a bat on the left, and what I choose to believe is a Moomin on the right. At least one of the rats is meant to be a mouse according to the makers but we think we know better. And there’s a couple more, but they live on or near my desk at work.
You’re never too old for cuddly toys.