Frogtown Rat Rider, Part Two

Dear Readers;

I had to do a little redo on this post. Some viewers were unsure as to what exactly they were looking at, that is, what was the original street mural, and what was my part. So I've added some photos to clarify. Also, my first post on the Rat Rider might help explain as well. 

Here was original Mayan mural found in Frogtown:

(Notice a ladder on the ground, 

perhaps they were trying to do a little touch up?)

And here was my first addition:

Frogtown Rat Rider

(click to make bigger)

And here is where I left off, adding the Mayan warrior boxer (or, at least, half of him):

Warrior Boxer and Frogtown Rat Rider,

Mayan mural on Blake Street

My friend Molly and I put this up last night right before it began to drizzle, then rain, and then pour, and I should have listened to her about the weather forecast, but I had a need to complete this incomplete mural, and so we went: step ladder in hand, two brushes, a bucket full of paste and our cameras that we couldn't use because our hands were too sticky.

Today Molly called after the rain and told me the boxer was still up (we had our doubts) but her mother, who she took along to see it, asked her why I hadn't finished the mural— those people with only one arm and leg, she couldn't understand it. She must've thought me lazy, leaving it so raw.

After we'd done the deed we went back to my house and played with rats, or the one that would play, Blu. Here's Molly and Blu, who couldn't stay away from each other, esp Blu, who had a thing for Molly's fake fur hoody. I had to make sure she didn't "accidentally" take my fat rat home with her.

Just hanging

•••

endnote: Like most natives of Louisville, KY, I'm a big fan of Muhammad Ali, who was born Cassius Clay in Louisville when it was still a fiercely segregated city. The book, Muhammad Ali: in Perspective, by Thomas Hauser (Collins Publishers San Francisco, 1996) was my inspiration for the warrior boxer, with a few tears thrown in for how much I love/loved the great Ali.

 

 

Animals in the 'hood

My next door neighbor continues to feed the skunks and possums, there's chickens in these them hills, and strange reindeer have been spotted, but I'm thinking differently about wildlife these days. Instead of this highfalutin attitude of "undisturbed in nature," I say, "Welcome, all ye animals to the 'hood."

The regulars at Thea's

Old possum with skunk friend

Mt. Washington Chicken

This fine specimen was just sitting there, not moving a muscle...

I mean who am I to talk? I have rats for pets. 


The Rat's Nest would like to introduce its readers to its two newest members—Blu and Lily.

 Blu is blue

Lily is shy

I haven't had pets for awhile, or been responsible for anything livelier than a house plant. I hope I'm up for the task. These rats are wild little things; I've got to keep an eye on them or they'll disappear down a hole or out the door. They're hard to capture...by hand or in a photograph:

But it's nice to have rats for the Rat's Nest again. They can always be counted on for some good laughs and bringing new life to this old blog. More to come. 

(P.S. In case you're wondering, Lily and Blu are kept in a cage, but they get out to play a few times a day...)

My ol' rat

Here's my ol' pet rat these days:

Hiding under the couch

After dinner Malka likes to dig around under the couch in her newspaper nest (a good use for the newspaper lately), dragging her tumors along side her. Don't mean to gross you out but rats develop tumors in their old age—2+— which is, among other things, what gets them in the end. If I could be as dignified in my old age with massive tumors weighing me down, I'd be super woman. Malka certainly is super rat. She cries out in pain occasionally but most of the time scurries from place to place, eating whatever we hand her, building her nest under the couch, letting us pet her under the blanket, and showing affection by licking our fingers and trimming our nails. 

 

Here's how I wish she could carry her tumors: 

Malka with extra baggage

If only we could remove those things that weigh us down. Malka could carry her two tumors around in her Sears Roebuck luggage until she was ready to go; until then, she'd throw them onto the fly-away-bus when she came home from NYC, sleep with them in her hammock, while eating bananas, make room for visitors by storing them under the couch; anything but not have them inside. Well, that's a children's story I suppose....but not reality. Reality is I'm really going to miss this little rat when she's gone.

Rats: the reality

Gambian giant pouch rat with trainer

(photo credit: www.animalplanet.com)

Before you start shrieking and running from the computer, say hello to the bravest rat you'll ever meet: the Gambian giant pouch rat, also called African giant pouch rat. This fellow has been trained to detect landmines—40 million of them in Africa—and has the ability to rat out TB virus in humans, through its acute sense of smell. These pouch rats are not only hard workers, but are on first name basis with Jane Goodall, who's teamed with APOPO, a humanitarian group that "researches, develops and deploys detection rat technology." The rats save lives all for a liter of bananas! Nicholas Kristof was so impressed he wrote about their work in an article about Father's Day, called "Dad will really like this" (thanks to Lu for pointing out). 

Talking about dads, my father hated rats. Once when I visited my parents' home in Florida, I was hit by the most putrid stench as soon as I walked through the door. "What's that smell?" I asked. "What smell," my father said, eyeing me suspiciously. Me: "That death smell." Him: "I don't smell anything." He left it and turned back to whatever he was doing, while I turned to tearing the house apart to find out what had died. The next day, while doing laundry, I saw two long, stiff tails sticking out from a hole behind the dryer. The dryer vent had been circulating that rankness in every corner of the house, to which my parents were oblivious because they'd lost all sense of smell. My mother remembered putting out poison, but hadn't thought about it since. "Oh, so that's what happened to them," she said, amused.

Why do people hate rats so? The answer to that question can be found in Joseph Mitchell's Up In the Old Hotel in the chilling "The Rats on the Waterfront" (written in 1944 about NYC rats, although things haven't changed that much according to recent reports).

 Joseph Mitchell

(photo credit: www.nytimes.com)

Mitchell, the great New Yorker writer, interviewed exterminators, ship's captains and fish mongers to get the real story of rats in the city. Even I, a rat lover, could barely sit still reading about the rat that climbed up a mop pole and bit off a ship boy's thumb nail. "A trap means nothing to them," said a NYC exterminator, "no matter how skillfully set. They just kick it around until it snaps; then they eat the bait. And they can detect poisoned bait a yard off. I believe some of them can read." 

To that point, I'd agree. Rats are extremely intelligent; but domesticated rats are as different in temperament from street rats as domesticated dogs are from wolves. From my experience, their intelligence and sweet disposition ranks right up there with the pouch rat (also their love for bananas!). APOPO trainers say they take clues from their rats as to where the landmines have been buried, but the thing of it is, each rat communicates differently, i.e., each has a distinct personality with a distinct way to point out where there's trouble. I'd say for a liter of bananas, Malka, our pet brown Dumbo, would do the same.
 

Malka, just another crazy, banana lovin' rat.

R.I.P. Luna (April 2008 - April 2010)

Our good rat Luna died tonight. May she rest in peace. We loved our little albino rat and she loved us. We played with her and feed her well and in return, received the sweet benefits only a rat can give. When she was ready to go, we had to muster up the courage to be ready too. It wasn't easy as it fell on Tom to take her to the vets when it was time, but he did (letting her sleep one last time under the couch) and then he buried her next to the bird feeder with her favorite cheerios. We will miss you, Luna. Two years is too short for a good rat.


Let us know what rat heaven is like, won't you?

RATZ

 Malka

When my daughter left for college she left behind her pet rats Luna and Malka. If you've ever had rats you know what great pets they make. Albino rats have been bred since the early 1900s for their docile natures, thus what's followed is totally different than NYC sewer rats (although if you cleaned up those little fellows who knows how well behaved they'd be?).

Luna

 
Domesticated rats bond with you. For instance, when I sit at my computer Luna sits beside me while I scratch behind her ears; she responds by closing her eyes and making teeth chattering noises (a rat's bliss). Malka is the more active rat, but when she's feeling affectionate, she'll patiently groom Tom's nails. Both wait to hear my car at night then scurry to greet me at the door when I come home from work.


Lately, they've taken to nesting under the orange couch. I found this out the other day when I walked into the room and thought, "Now, why is that dishtowel moving across the floor?" I looked under the couch and saw a pile of old newspapers, dishtowels and rags wrapped around each other in a huge rat's nest. I had to take it apart yesterday, it was getting so big, and then this morning I found they'd dragged all the folded laundry under the couch to start again.

Breakfast/lunch/dinner

Nothing makes me happier than waking up in the morning and saying hello to my rats— nothing, that is, except for writing this blog, which has cheered me beyond belief, giving me a way to deal with my own rat's nest and the day-to-day of missing my kids.