(If you are in the least bit squeamish about rats, please do not read further!)
I'm the grown up here, so get a grip! It's not entirely my fault that my pet rats, Blu and Lily, spent the night in the defunct oven again! They crawled into the cabinet when I wasn't looking; crashed through the airduct, nearly scared me to death. I thought it was a raccoon from the roof who'd found it's way in. I'd accidentally left the cage door open and... oh, never mind...
I have no control over these rats, they won't stay put. (Was i this lenient with my kids? I don't think so. Absolutely not!) If they hadn't come out of the oven this morning I'd have to call Patrick the Plumber. Ah, but they did. I threw them back in their cage where they weren't happy, and they made sure I knew it— sticking their noses out to get my attention, climbing up and down, not settling. At least with a baby you can drive it around in the car until it passes out, or put a little whiskey on its bottle. But rats? Man, there's absolutely nothing you can do to make them behave!
(News flash: I just read where landmine sniffing rats in South America have been trained to respond to commands such as, "stop," "let's go," and even training their babies. Perhaps not all is lost...?)
***I'm psyched about my class at Art Center. I did my first comic ever! (excuse the bad copies, but my scanner is also defunct).
(Use by 2000, 2001, 2005, etc.)
"But some things never grow old...."
(use by 2050)
And I have a new look for the main character of my rat story....
Now I just have to finish it...