Let them burrow into your sweatshirt and into your heart.
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Strap in, folks. Today, we’re talking about rats: why you should love them, and why you should consider obtaining one for yourself. But first, here are three new stories from The Atlantic.
Man’s Other Best Friend
In 2022, in this newsletter, I wrote about the winter activity I hate most: skiing. Today, in an effort to inject more kindness and positivity into the world, I am writing about a creature I love more than almost any other: the rat.
When I say rat, I mean every kind of rat, including the big scraggly fellows that tiptoe around your yard at night, eating trash and getting into mischief. A rat sighting, for many people, prompts disgust. That naked tail! they scream. Those yellow teeth! But the humble rat does not deserve your scorn. For she has only ever been adorable and intelligent, skittering politely through the dark alleys of human civilization—a civilization that she helped build by testing our medicines, solving our puzzles, and detecting our land mines.
My love for rats, in other words, has no bounds. But my persuasive efforts here are focused on the Rattus norvegicus domestica, otherwise known as the fancy rat, which is the kind of rat you’d have as a pet. Don’t let the name fool you: The fancy rat is not fancy at all. Instead, she is a down-to-earth and relatively low-maintenance creature, tidy and respectful. Fancy rats can be light brown or spotted or even blue-gray. Some, like the Dumbo rat, are white, with big floppy ears. Others are totally hairless.
The truth is that, in terms of pet quality, a rat is second only to a dog. Guinea pigs? Too messy. Ferrets? Stinky, unhinged. Don’t even get me started on hamsters. My cousin’s hamster, Snickers, once latched his razor teeth onto my thumb before sprinting off into the dark expanse of a walk-in closet, never to be seen again. A rat would never do this. A rat is man’s other best friend: She is loyal and true, she rarely bites, and she comes when called. A rat snuggles, and enjoys scratches behind the ears. She is eager to please and to take part in your adventures.
Rats are famous for their intelligence, of course, but also for their joy. Scientists have discovered that rats laugh when they’re tickled—a sound so high-pitched and ethereal that mere humans cannot even hear it. Rats are incredibly social creatures; they like to pile together in hammocks, wrestle, and play. Studies have demonstrated that they even show empathy and concern for their rat compatriots.
One of the common misconceptions about rats is that they’re dirty and riddled with dangerous diseases. Although it’s true that wild rats can carry and transmit serious illnesses, a pet rat is about as sanitary as any other domesticated animal! In fact, fancy rats are obsessed with grooming themselves and one another. They keep their fur and tail meticulously clean, and their cages don’t smell, as long as you change out their bedding regularly. Plus, if you’re interested, a rat can be taught, pretty quickly, to use a litter box.
“Over my dead body,” my mother told me in 2003 when I was 10 years old and asked to get a rat. The tail repulsed her. But I wore her down. A few weeks later, Alice, a black-hooded fancy rat, came to live with us. She was $2.99 at a local pet store, more suited for snake food, the store staff had figured, than best friendship. But they were wrong. (Nowadays it’s better and just as easy to adopt: Many rats in need are available at shelters across the country.)
For two years, little Alice lived in a cage in our kitchen, spending part of each day sleeping in a white plastic house with a blue roof, her tail tucked under her head. When she was awake, Alice ran on her wheel and dragged empty toilet-paper rolls around. She snacked on carrot peels, sunflower seeds, and yogurt chips. Even if I stuck my fingers through the bars of her cage, she would never bite them—only lick them gently with her tiny pink tongue. When she wanted attention, she’d peer through the wires with her beady black eyes, squeaking softly and stretching out her tiny paws.
I used to carry Alice in the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt, and she’d snuggle into me while I watched Gilmore Girls reruns on summer afternoons. Sometimes she’d ride around on the back of my golden retriever, who never seemed to mind. Dad built Alice a maze of PVC pipe around our kitchen, and we’d watch her sprint through it every evening, popping up occasionally for treats. At bedtime, we’d call out her name, and Alice would come galloping home.
I would go on to have four more pet rats throughout my childhood, each different from the last in appearance and personality. Some were more talkative; others were shy and quiet. All were delightful in their own way. Rats don’t live long—maybe two or three years. But those rats filled my life with happiness. Taking care of them taught me how to be gentle and curious, and to never judge a creature by its tail.
Consider this your sign to get yourself—or your child—a rat. Let her burrow into your sweatshirt, and also your heart.
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Evening Read
The Gravitational Pull of Supervising Kids All the TimeBy Stephanie H. Murray
(From 2023)
Two Christmases ago, Anna Rollins, a writer based outside Huntington, West Virginia, went on a stroll with her then-5-year-old son. Always itching to do things himself, the boy announced that he wanted to walk alone. When Rollins refused, he countered with a compromise: He would walk on one side of the row of houses, she would walk on the other, and they’d meet at the far end. The trek was only four homes long, in a neighborhood with no through-traffic, so she relented and instructed him to stick to the grass. “This is a good start to independence,” Rollins thought to herself as she walked.
But when she arrived at the meeting spot, her son wasn’t there. She ran around to his side of the block and found it empty. Finally, she spotted him with an elderly couple across the road. “Is this your little boy?” the woman asked as Rollins hurried over. “He was out by himself.” Rollins tried to explain—the boy’s request, the plan, independence—to little avail. “Merry Christmas,” the woman said icily as she handed the boy back. To Rollins, it sounded more like You’re welcome that I rescued your child from your negligent parenting.
Read the full article.
More From The Atlantic
Culture Break
Watch. Hayao Miyazaki’s The Boy and the Heron (in theaters) illustrates how war can destroy the innocence of a child’s soul.
Listen. With The Past Is Still Alive, Hurray for the Riff Raff has made the next great American road album.
Play our daily crossword.
P.S.
In an effort to make abortion less of a political loser for Republicans, Donald Trump is reportedly supporting a new ban on abortion, with limited exceptions, after 16 weeks. It seems intended as a compromise position to woo moderate voters in the upcoming general election. But my new story explains why what Trump says about abortion matters much less than what his advisers are planning to do behind the scenes.
— Elaine
Isabel Fattal contributed to this newsletter.
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