The Year Of The Rat

Having been raised in New York City, the thought of a rat conjures up dark images of disease and filth. I am reminded of a storefront kept by a New York City public health unit at Avenue A and Third Street. This unit was responsible for publicly funded rodent extermination programs. This store window was filled with pictures of men in orange jumpsuits standing in the bowels of buildings holding dead rats.

I remember once throwing a coke bottle at a monstrous thing creeping along a New York City subway station. I make a mental connection between rats and bubonic plague and though I don’t really know what bubonic plague will do to you, it seems horrible. Rats are yucky. I think of rats and my skin crawls.

Despite my feelings about rats, some cultures look favorably on these beasts. I come from a world of plenty and rats are a fact of life. However, for those less fortunate societies, having no rats equates to having no food. Taking this to a logical extreme, the presence of rats implies affluence. Forget the Lexus baby, I got rats.

And this brings me to Emily.

Our daughter Emily is a wondrous child. She is bright, alive and filled with passion. Although she can be demanding, she is sensitive and loving. Emily has a special weakness for animals. Ignoring what harms she might inflict upon her smaller brother, she goes gaga over little creatures and treats them with tenderness.

Back in Houston, not long after Bocephus (our golden retriever) passed on, Emily asked for a pet. We just weren't excited about having any pets in the house at that time, but we didn't want to say no. This was an opportunity to exercise advanced parenting: don’t say "no" – just say we’ll discuss this later and the child will forget.

Since we were in Houston and planning our return to California, Pam shrewdly answered that we would consider getting Emily a pet after we moved to San Diego. This proved to be a risky maneuver since, to a child, saying, "we will talk later," is as good as saying, "yes." While this approach reserves some moral right to say, "I never said yes"; the child will always feel betrayed. However, this is a calculated risk. This pet thing was likely a passing fancy, and Pam was betting that Emily would soon forget the matter.

Not long after we arrived in San Diego, Emily asked for the pet that she had been "promised." Forget the technical distinctions, our position was weakening. Pam played defense. She made the point that we were living in a rental house and that we should wait until we moved into our "real" house. Emily conceded. Shortly after we moved into our "real" house, Emily reminded Pam about her pet. In a purely defensive posture, Pam asked Emily to understand that we really hadn’t settled in yet. She begged Emily to indulge her and allow some time for "settling in." Of course, once the paint had dried, Emily asked Pam "Are we settled?" Pam asked why. Emily explained that if we were settled, Emily could get her pet, the pet that she had been promised.

Now at this point, you may have noticed that all of the action had been going on between Pam and Emily. You might ask what Kirk was doing during all of this. Well, Kirk was being a father. Realizing early on that I did not have the material to wage this war, I conducted diplomatic operations. Whenever Emily asked me about a pet, I would ask her questions about preschool and her friends. When pressed, I would simply respond with, "Ask your mother." Upon reflection, I’m very proud of the way I handled this situation. I managed to do a fair amount of talking without really saying anything.

Anyway, once the grout dried, Pam surrendered. Following the "call it a victory and get out of Vietnam" school of spin, Pam rationalized the situation to me as an educational experience (what she failed to say was that we were the ones being educated). I nodded knowingly. Given her flair for theatre, she decided to make this into an event. Pam, inventor of "Fall Festival" and "Fantastic Fridays," instituted "The Search for the Right Pet."

The "Search" as it had come to be known, fueled several family conversations.

Snakes were out of the question. Hamsters are not social and they bite. Ferrets are good with adults but they can be nasty with children and somebody said that they have a musk. Having experienced disco, I remember everyone was wearing musk at one time, but I suppose that was different then or at least a different kind of musk. Gerbils - well they’re gerbils - there's that whole Richard Gere thing - ugh.

I suggested a small dog, not a very small dog – like a "rodent dog" – but a somewhat small dog. There was thing called a "CockaPoo" that wasn’t’ a recognized breed but had that midsized shaggy kind of look that went along with names like "Rags" or "Scruffy." But Pam didn’t want a dog. She wasn’t up to potty training a dog until she was through potty training Liam. And then there was the matter of our new carpets. I was determined to get a dog. I faithfully promised to help with raising the dog. But Pam just gave me "that look." I retreated.

And then there were rats.

Pam believed that a rat was the right animal. Not just any rat, but a "Fancy Rat." Although I thought that "Fancy Rat" was something that appeared on an exotic menu, Pam explained that Fancy Rats were bred to be household pets. They are sweet, intelligent and - as a major advantage - are only expected to live about two years. Pam just wasn’t sure if she could deal the "tail" thing. But if she touch a rat tail without gagging, we were going to get a rat.

I immediately exercised my "king of the castle" veto rights over bringing a rat into the house. Pam just gave me "that look." I boldly asked (inaudibly) "When are we going to get cockroaches?"

Fait accompli. On a bright Saturday morning, the family drove down to a nearby shopping center. Pam, Emily and Liam went to the pet shop to admire pets. I went to a hardware store to admire power tools.

After a time, I mustered up the courage to meet up with the family at the pet shop. Entering the store, I noticed that the San Diego Humane Society had set up a pet adoption booth. They had the sweetest little Australian Shepherd puppy, an eight-week-old ball of fluff.

But Pam, Emily and Liam were standing chatting with a store clerk. She was a high-school aged girl who looked like she listened to Megadeath. There was a rat sitting on her shoulder. Pam saw me and said "The tail’s really not that bad." She added that the clerk, who recommended rats highly, had two of her own at home. If she didn't have the safety pin in her eyebrow, it might have been persuasive.

Pam decided that we needed not one, but two rats. The rest of the conversation was just a blur. Rats were social animals. If we didn’t have time to keep the rats company, they could keep one another company. One rat was cruel. If we were to get two rats, Emily wanted a boy rat and a girl rat. Pam explained to Emily that we were going to get two girl rats because we didn’t want rat babies. Emily told Pam that even if we got two girl rats they could still have babies because they were girl rats. Pam just smiled.

Somehow, we left the pet shop ratless. We bade farewell to the rodent farm and went home. But my family was plotting against me.

I knew we were going to get the rats. I planned to take the position that, even though we got the rats, I had never agreed to it. I thought that this could give me leverage in other situations. For example, I figured that if I wanted to go to Club Med by myself and Pam objected, I could always say, "well I didn't want to get the rats." But Pam, as usual, was smarter than me. She was going to get me to agree. Pam simply told Emily that we could get the rats if Emily got my consent. She outflanked me. Shortly thereafter, while I was on the top of a ladder trying to install some crown molding, Emily approached me.

"Do you know that rats are very good for five year olds?" she asked.

"Emily, do you know where I left my hammer?"

"Papaaaa."

"Yes."

"Do you know that rats are very good for five year olds?"

"Is that right?" I replied.

"Yes, they’re very clean and nice and you can hold them and they don’t bite. They’re not scared of people. They’re very good for five year olds. Can you let me have a rat?"

"Who's going to pay for the rat."

"You are."

"Where will I get the money to pay for the rat?"

"You can go to work and get the money to buy a rat."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you love me."

"Who is going to take care of the rat?"

"Mommy."

"Why do you want a rat?"

"Because they’re very good for five year olds. they’re very clean and nice and you can hold them and they don’t bite."

Instead of taking another lap around the track, I suggested that we discuss the matter at dinner. Dinner came and went. We were going to get a rat.

The next afternoon, Pam called me at the office to report that we became the proud parents of two rats. Emily was in heaven, she named her pets Liza and Lulu. I felt a certain pride and warmth. Not for the rats, but for the joy that "we" had given Emily.

That evening, Pam took me downstairs to view the rats. They looked like rats. Lulu was grey – it occurred to me that if you have any reservations about rats, you should not buy either a grey or black rat. Liza, Emily’s favorite, was white with tan spots.

Pam picked up Liza. She encouraged me to pick up Lulu. But Lulu didn’t seem to want to be picked up. Pam said that you just have to grab them but I decided that if Lulu wasn’t into it, I wasn’t going to force the issue. Pam put Liza back into the cage. Lulu acted agressively towards Liza, nipping at her hind legs. Pam didn’t think that was normal rat behavior. I didn’t have much of an opinion on the matter. They were rats and nipping seemed like a "ratty" thing to do.

The next day Pam called me at the office. "Well, we’re a one rat family" she said. I thought about the nipping. Oh my goodness, Lulu must have killed Liza. I felt guilty. I could have prevented it.

Pam explained, "I read in the rat book that if one rat is aggressive towards the other rat, you need to separate them. So I brought Lulu back to the pet store." Feeling a bit relieved – they are living creatures, after all - I mumbled something supportive and went back to my work.

Later that evening, Pam was in the kitchen, preparing dinner and Emily was downstairs playing with her rats. Emily came upstairs and approached Pam. With a big smile on her face, Emily announced that Liza was having babies. Pam was busying stir-frying. She told Emily that she must be mistaken, that Emily must have seen some dirt in the cage.

Emily insisted that Liza had two babies. To settle the matter, Pam went to see Liza. Pam arrived in time to witness Liza eating the afterbirth. But there were four baby rats and the family would soon grow to nine.

"I told you girl rats could have babies without boy rats," Emily said.

The rat thing hasn't been all that bad. A surprising number of people wanted the babies (we didn't ask if they raised snakes). We quickly returned to being just a two-rat family.

Reflecting back, I had only one real concern: Our son Liam really loved dinosaurs . . . .