I have rats - we don't mention how many in polite company*.
My current horde are all rescues, and all special, but none are as special as the late lamented Albert (attached), who was visited by the Grim Squeaker in Jan this year.
We adopted him at the start of 2019, after I spotted him on an advert site looking forlorn and unwell in a small glass tank. It turned out he was the last survivor of an (irresponsible) breeding colony, and had spent most of his life in the tank, sometimes with tens of other rats. Overcrowding and bad conditions left him with severe lung damage, chronic pleurisy and malnutrition, but we took him home, gave him all the best meds (dexamethasone - no rat expert is surprised to learn it is beneficial to damaged lungs!), fed him up, and snuggled him.
And boy did he snuggle. He also cleaned our faces daily (humans could not be trusted with hygiene), stole our food, and turned the sofa into a burrow.The photo was taken over Christmas, by which time Albert was an extremely ancient 3 yr old who spent his festive season pinning me to the sofa by sleeping adorably in creative positions. I managed to keep him happy and alive until my husband came home from seeing his family, so we could say goodbye together.*ok, it's 16. Which isn't many, if you count fast. --Aphra Pell
Hiatus update: still no cooking gas, but the delivery dude is become my new bff.
My reading mojo is back and I am devouring things ferociously.
Thanks again to all of you providing content while I read!