a box of squirrels (or: seriously the cutest thing that has ever happened to me, ever)

So I was walking Autumn home from school today, and stopped suddenly at the sight of this little guy.

He was sitting very still in the grass. While I inched closer to see if he was alive, Autumn said, "There's another one!" I turned around and sure enough, there was a second baby squirrel lying on the ground about ten feet away. The first one started moving, taking a few shaky steps toward the sound of our voices. His eyes were firmly shut, but he tried to follow the sounds he was hearing. He made pitiful squeaking and chattering noises as he felt around on the ground. The second one was curled up in a little ball. At first I was sure he was dead, but he stretched his legs and writhed around when I got closer.

I called Jude to come and bring us a shoebox to put them in, and while we were waiting for him, a third baby appeared! He was stumbling around the base of the tree we think they may have fallen from. After calling the DNR and a couple of nature centers, all of which were closed for the day, we left a message with a local wildlife rescue recommended by my vet. 

An hour later a woman from the rescue called and told us to leave the babies near the tree until sundown to see if the mother came back, and to take them indoors if she didn't. Mom never came, so now we've got a box of squirrels! These things always happen to me. For real. If I had a dollar for every stray or abandoned animal I've taken under my wing, I would have a lot of dollars. From dogs to mice, I am a magnet for lost furry things. I did not ask for this superpower. It just happened to me. 

While I am tempted to train the squirrels to sing and clean my house like Snow White, we are taking them to the wildlife rescue tomorrow morning. In the meantime we are keeping them warm with some old towels and feeding them Pedialyte with an eye dropper, which is literally the cutest thing I have ever done in my life.

I don't know much about squirrel care, but we're doing what we can and I hope they'll survive the night and go on to live happy squirrely lives.

goodbye, little friend

A while after Queen Victoria died of old age in 2010, we adopted Wendolyn and her sister, Coraline. They, like their predecessors, made a charming pair; Wendy, the sweet, gentle soul who would eat treats from my hand and fall asleep on my chest while cuddling on the sofa, and Coraline, the rambunctious, ambitious escape artist who loves her exercise wheel and anything remotely edible. I love them both to bits.

Today, after a surgical procedure to remove a rapidly growing tumor near her hind leg, Wendy's little heart stopped. We are so sad to see her go. I feel as though we didn't have enough time with her. She was not yet two years old.


When I walked into their room, she would always come to the front of the cage to greet me. I'll miss her twitchy little whiskers and pink button nose. She was a wonderful companion, and she is very loved by everyone who has had the pleasure of knowing her.

Goodbye, little friend.

<3

Wendolyn Victoria
2010-2012

Photo credit: Tantalizing Enigma Photography

My dear Sweet P has left us.

This morning I took her and Victoria out of their cage for play time. They ran around on our bed, exploring and hiding under blankets and sheets like they always do. Playing peekaboo with their little pink noses. Then Penelope laid down. She sat very still next to my pillow for several minutes, only looking up when I stroked her back. I thought maybe she was tired. It was pretty early and they usually sleep most of the day. So I took them back to their cage to let them rest. Ten minutes later I checked on them and Penelope wasn't breathing. Her body was still warm and her tiny black eyes were still open when she went limp in my hands.

I don't think that it had anything to do with the tumor or the surgery. She was just very old and very tired. Her death was quiet and peaceful, and I'm glad that she had a chance to play and tunnel through the sheets one last time before the end.

Penelope was a wonderful companion. She was sweet and shy and never said no to a scritch behind the ears. She loved carrots, applesauce and her pink fleece blankie. She liked to snuggle on my chest and eat treats out of my hand. She was so brave when she battled cancer and went through surgery, which she bounced back from beautifully. No matter how bad my day was, she could always cheer me up. Her fuzzy little face and her velvety ears always made me smile. I loved the way her whiskers tickled my face. I loved the little patches of white fur above her paws, how they made her look like she was wearing dainty little gloves.


She was a good rat, and I miss her so much it hurts.

Penelope Rosado

2007-2009

before and after

before: big mean tumor

after: badass scar

Yesterday Miss Penelope went under the knife to remove that big ol' baddie on her belly. The surgery went smoothly and her vet is optimistic about her recovery. She's on medication for the pain and she needs to be separated from her sister for a couple of weeks while she heals, but she has been quite the little trooper through all of this. She is just as sweet and friendly as ever. Even the staff at the animal hospital couldn't help but fall in love with my Sweet P. I don't know if she understands that the surgery was for her own good or not, but she is handling it much better than I expected her to, and I am relieved.

I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. My 21st birthday is tomorrow, and I couldn't ask for a better gift than knowing that my little fuzzbutt is okay. After all the joy she has brought me, the old girl deserves a fighting chance.

sweet p

A few days ago I noticed a strange lump on Penelope's belly, near her left hind leg. Knowing how susceptible fancy rats are to tumors, I took her to the vet the next day to have it looked at. After some poking and prodding and testing he concluded that, yes, she has cancer.

He told me that I have three options. I can have the tumor surgically removed, with a high risk of the cancer coming back. I can let the tumor run its course, growing in size until it eventually kills her, or I can have her euthanized.
From the outside this may seem like a simple choice, but it isn't. What if she has the surgery and it does come back? Then I'll have put her through a painful operation for nothing. The last thing I want is for her to suffer in any way. If I put her to sleep to avoid the risk of any pain I don't know if I can live with the guilt of never knowing if she could have been saved. A tiny living thing is depending on me to do what is best for her. A living thing who can't tell me what she needs. The way I feel now brings back strong memories of the way I felt six years ago, when my doctor told me I was pregnant. No one tells you how to handle these things. No one prepares you for the day you need to make these choices. It's a heavy load to carry, especially when you've got to do it alone.

Penelope is the sweetest, gentlest little rat I've ever known. When she looks up at me with those beady little eyes it breaks my heart to think that there is something inside her tiny body that is slowly killing her. The vet says she isn't in any pain right now. She acts like she always has, like nothing is wrong, but I wonder if she knows. I want to scoop her up and plead, beg her to tell me what I'm supposed to do. I know that she can't. It would just be so much easier that way.

Cancer is a bitch.