The rat

The rat cracks me up. Not really. I was actually worried she was trying to escape her cage last night—chewing through it, which she ought to be able to do if she could get leverage on the plastic—because she’s so miserable. I don’t know if she’s miserable. She used to have her twin sister and two friends. They’ve all died and she’s still going. She’s made herself a little tent out of towels; well, I draped them over the top part of the cage, but she is using them as a little tent. They’re awesome. Rats, I mean. Not tents. Tents are all right, very useful. Rats are awesome.

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