Raising Craziness...: Rat Funeral

My kids might not look so much like me, but they're sure starting to act like me.

Lately we've really been on an animal saving craze. Really, I've been on an animal saving craze since I can remember, starting with me adopting the "poor, abandoned" cat of our perfectly capable neighbor when I was 5. I would even rescue stuffed animals, sure they were just crying when I turned my back, because they so wanted a home. I can remember eye-dropper feeding baby mice, putting bunnies against hot water bottles, and making splints for birds' wings. My grandpa, knowing my penchant for animal rehabilitation, would bring me any animals he found - bats, birds, even a snake that got loose in our house. I can remember when my pet rat ToeToeWhoopieToe died, we had a proper funeral and burial with a headstone written in sharpies. For years afterwards, when I was feeling sorry for myself or when I needed a good cry, I would go sit by that grave mustering up some tears and trying to feel sad about the rat whose cage I always forgot to clean. It's like sometimes, you just need something to cry over.

We recently took in two sickly puppies from the animal shelter, and the kids have really been learning how to love them and care for them properly, and learning about how animals need to be rescued. Just a few days after we brought them home, Khutso came to me holding a plastic bag. Pleased with himself, he held it out for me to take a look. Knowing Khutso, it could have been anything.

It was a rat. A mostly dead rat, with his leg twisted all backwards, a glazed over look in his eyes, breathing about 500 breaths a minute as our two faces stare down at him laying at the bottom of the bag.

"Maria beated him with a broom to make him dead!" Khutso told me, referring to one of the workers who is obviously not a rat fan. "But he did not dead, and then I take him when she is gone! Let's make him better and make him like a pet!"

I was pretty sure the situation was grim and I told him so, but went ahead and put the rat in a box with some grass anyway. I told him to get some more grass and things to make the rat feel "more at home." Ever enthusiastic, Khutso soon had the poor thing covered in a pile of brush that could start a decent fire. I uncovered the terrified rat and petted him, pretty sure he was having the worst last few moments ever, as all the kids peered down at him, oohing and aahing. They then decided to strike up a rousing rendition of "Run to the River", complete with terrible but vigorous guitar strumming and djembe playing. Strike that. THESE would be the worst last few moments ever.

It must have been the djembe playing that sent Mr. Rat over the edge, because when I checked him again he seemed even deader than before. No more frantic breathing. I called Khutso away from his djembe and nodded to the rat sadly and seriously, searching for a pulse and declaring time of death. Khutso gave him one final pet with his index finger, trying to look as mournful as possible before scurrying away to find an appropriate casket.

He came back proudly with a plastic goggles case, and I agreed that the see-through look was very dramatic and the casket size appropriate. He placed the casket back into the grass box, and recruited Lerato to help serve as pallbrearer and grave digger. Lebo agreed to sing at the funeral, and I said I would officiate.

They took turns diging a hole that was about two inches deep, and I stepped in to dig it to a decent depth, imagining the smell/sight of Henry running proudly around with rat remains in his mouth a week later. Lebo mournfully sang "O Morena Jesu" as we dug and buried, and each one threw a leaf onto the goggles case before we packed down the dirt. I said a prayer for the rat and declared it likely the nicest rat funeral ever held in South Africa. Then I taught them taps, declining to play it on the trumpet lest the neighbors think we are crazier than they already do. (yes, we do have a trumpet in our house, that the last guy left...and NO, I am not telling the kids it is there.)

There was then much enthusiasm about the grave decorations - I made a headstone that said "RIP RAT", and they found some flowers (probably from the neighbors' garden) and other random adornments that continued to grow over the next few days, like a broken scissors handle and some old boards.