(no subject)
Oct. 22nd, 2005 12:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taleyaI've no doubt fellow rat owners have seen these traits, but please, allow me to share....
Meet Fiskas and Onion. These are the two deceptively cute ladies pictured in my icon (Onion is the one closest to the camera) . Fiskas is a somewhat hyper baby, Onion is a glorious squish who is the most beautiful animal I've ever known. She has bit a couple of people (never me) but in one case I'm pretty sure it's justified, and in the other it was sensory overload and she'd given ratty warning signals that the other person (unfortunately) didn't know beforehand.
Look at their lovely little faces. aww, if you wish.
But be fooled not by their gorgeous demeanours, as I expose THE TRUTH about some of their endeavours!
Dominance Battles
Rats like a pecking order. Someone to give orders to. The problem is, Fiskas is insistant that she is top rat. Onion pretty much doesn't give a flying shit either way.
Every so often, (mostly when Onion is in heat)Fiskas will decide to prove her dominance. This results (as in most animal behaviours) in her chasing, boxing, and batting at Onion. Onion gives as good as she gets, then distracts Fiskas in a mad chase about the floor. But every so often, Fiskas will do The Hump.
Exactly what it sounds like, Fiskas will latch her front paws onto Onion, and mount her from behind, grinding away furiously. Onion, as has been previously stated, does not care. Onion will either sit there chewing on something of interest, or , more often than not, just start walking.
Fiskas refuses to reliquish her grip or her dominance, and hops along behind the plodding Onion on two hind legs, frantically attempting to maintain some sort of rythmn with her hips whilst scuttering along. Eventually Onion will rise up, leaving Fiskas to slide down to land on her own backside in a furry little heap. To add insult to injury, Onion will then twist her upper body and peer down at Fiskas with a "mmmmmmyesssssss?" expression. No upperclass butler used to turning people away with a masterful sneer could do better.
Nesting
Fiskas likes to nest. It's almost an obsession with her. Anything a rat can fit into must be turned into a nest. There is no doing otherwise. So far she's made nests in the ferret tube, the AMD box, the horizontal cardboard tube, the litter box, the nesting box , the foofer elephant and the foodbowl.
I made her a hammock. They ate it.
Of course she will only sleep where Onion sleeps. Which is limited to three places - the horizontal cardboard tube for lazy naps, the enclosed nesting box for cold nights, and the foofer elephant.
Bathing
Some people (My sister included) have tales of horror from washing their rats. I have the opposite problem.
Showertime and Bathtime have become communal affairs. Showerpuddles are gleefully paddled in, pawfuls scooped up to rinse off furry little faces after a hard day's racing about, paws are placed on mummy's leg to demand liftings to investigate the water as it comes from the rosette. The water goes off, a towel is reached for, and they immediately rush forward to be towelled dry.
But bathtime is when the fun REALLY starts.
Clothing is investigated! Cupboards are scaled! Soap is chewed! Towels become rigging that must be climbed, leading to a secret path along the rail that leads to the sink, where they sit and peer at their empire below. Toothbrushes are attempted to be stolen! The bin basket (plastic bag already removed) is immediately tipped onto its side, and becomes an ersatz rat wheel - one inside, the other at the back wheeling it about the floor. The bathtub itself is scaled, the sides investigated for the best vantage point, and with tail high in the air Fiskas gleefully bellyflops onto the bubbles. Onion is rather more sedate, sailing gracefully down mummy's chest to test the temperature before paddling determinedly towards the nearest knee.
The plug reached for and they scamper up to sit on a shoulder, watching...waiting....
As soon as the water hits a shallow level the plug goes back in and mummy gets out. All to themselves! they paddle and squeak and splash each other happily before clambering up the towel so thoughtfully draped over the side and demanding to be dried.
Playtime
Playtime is many things. In the bathroom, in the bedroom, in the home office. They love them all. Bathroom has been explained, but office is another matter. Any bags of chips left about are immediately appropriated. CDs are flung from the desk with gleeful abandon. Fast-moving fingers are chased across the keyboard, laps are investigated, and choice pieces of food left in front of mummy since she is evidently unable to pick them out herself. Eventually Onion will clamber up my shoulder and begin grooming my hair - all the while chittering away in my ear like the finest salon worker, while Fiskas continues her long-standing dominance battle against the speaker.
The bedroom is their favourite. No contest. They love blues and Bob Marley and will hide under the bed and sulk until one or the other is put on. The couch is investigated. Bookcases are climbed, fishtanks are fallen into. Standing high on top of her cage, Fiskas foofs in triumph while Onion curls up under the doona at my feet. Every so often a set of silky whiskers will emerge to sample the air, gradually revealing more and more of the rat until with a POUNCE she leaps upon Fiskas as she burrows in the bin and a melee ensues. The couch is gnawed. Onion scales the bedside table and chews on my water bottle as Fiskas knocks the worry balls off their perch and attacks them in her endless quest to prove there is NOTHING too large to fit in her mouth. Onion moves to the window sill and sniffs the intriguing scents wafting through the flyscreen as Fiskas burrows through their toychest before coming out with the Ferret Ball. Patient paws scrabble and claw at the ball's operating mechanism, until conceding defeat, Fiskas ups on her hind legs and uses her forepaws to roll the ball over to Onion.
Fiskas stares.
Onion stares
Fiskas stares. And stares. And stares...
Eventually Onion accedes and daintily makes her way down the CD rack before pushing and turning the button to activate the ball.
Ball goes crazy. Fiskas goes crazy. Onion goes crazy.
And mummy laughs her arse off.
Rat Football
It all started with an almond. Just a simple. Little. Almond.
Fiskas investigated the almond. Then wandered off. Onion investigated the almond, then decided waste not, want not, and took it over to her food stash.
Suddenly it became the most desired thing in the whole cage. Fiskas had to have it! It was hers! Fair means or foul!
From this single event has evolved the masterful game of Rat Football. Its goals are simple - take the almond and run like hell. Defend the ball from the quivering whiskers and grasping paws of your valiant opponent! Should your opponent seize this marvellous prize, it must be regained at all costs!
Neither of them are particularly interested in eating it, it's merely a pawn in the eternal game of Rat Chess.
These are but a few tales of tails...be sure to tune in next time for
TALES OF RAT TERROR!!
Meet Fiskas and Onion. These are the two deceptively cute ladies pictured in my icon (Onion is the one closest to the camera) . Fiskas is a somewhat hyper baby, Onion is a glorious squish who is the most beautiful animal I've ever known. She has bit a couple of people (never me) but in one case I'm pretty sure it's justified, and in the other it was sensory overload and she'd given ratty warning signals that the other person (unfortunately) didn't know beforehand.
Look at their lovely little faces. aww, if you wish.
But be fooled not by their gorgeous demeanours, as I expose THE TRUTH about some of their endeavours!
Dominance Battles
Rats like a pecking order. Someone to give orders to. The problem is, Fiskas is insistant that she is top rat. Onion pretty much doesn't give a flying shit either way.
Every so often, (mostly when Onion is in heat)Fiskas will decide to prove her dominance. This results (as in most animal behaviours) in her chasing, boxing, and batting at Onion. Onion gives as good as she gets, then distracts Fiskas in a mad chase about the floor. But every so often, Fiskas will do The Hump.
Exactly what it sounds like, Fiskas will latch her front paws onto Onion, and mount her from behind, grinding away furiously. Onion, as has been previously stated, does not care. Onion will either sit there chewing on something of interest, or , more often than not, just start walking.
Fiskas refuses to reliquish her grip or her dominance, and hops along behind the plodding Onion on two hind legs, frantically attempting to maintain some sort of rythmn with her hips whilst scuttering along. Eventually Onion will rise up, leaving Fiskas to slide down to land on her own backside in a furry little heap. To add insult to injury, Onion will then twist her upper body and peer down at Fiskas with a "mmmmmmyesssssss?" expression. No upperclass butler used to turning people away with a masterful sneer could do better.
Nesting
Fiskas likes to nest. It's almost an obsession with her. Anything a rat can fit into must be turned into a nest. There is no doing otherwise. So far she's made nests in the ferret tube, the AMD box, the horizontal cardboard tube, the litter box, the nesting box , the foofer elephant and the foodbowl.
I made her a hammock. They ate it.
Of course she will only sleep where Onion sleeps. Which is limited to three places - the horizontal cardboard tube for lazy naps, the enclosed nesting box for cold nights, and the foofer elephant.
Bathing
Some people (My sister included) have tales of horror from washing their rats. I have the opposite problem.
Showertime and Bathtime have become communal affairs. Showerpuddles are gleefully paddled in, pawfuls scooped up to rinse off furry little faces after a hard day's racing about, paws are placed on mummy's leg to demand liftings to investigate the water as it comes from the rosette. The water goes off, a towel is reached for, and they immediately rush forward to be towelled dry.
But bathtime is when the fun REALLY starts.
Clothing is investigated! Cupboards are scaled! Soap is chewed! Towels become rigging that must be climbed, leading to a secret path along the rail that leads to the sink, where they sit and peer at their empire below. Toothbrushes are attempted to be stolen! The bin basket (plastic bag already removed) is immediately tipped onto its side, and becomes an ersatz rat wheel - one inside, the other at the back wheeling it about the floor. The bathtub itself is scaled, the sides investigated for the best vantage point, and with tail high in the air Fiskas gleefully bellyflops onto the bubbles. Onion is rather more sedate, sailing gracefully down mummy's chest to test the temperature before paddling determinedly towards the nearest knee.
The plug reached for and they scamper up to sit on a shoulder, watching...waiting....
As soon as the water hits a shallow level the plug goes back in and mummy gets out. All to themselves! they paddle and squeak and splash each other happily before clambering up the towel so thoughtfully draped over the side and demanding to be dried.
Playtime
Playtime is many things. In the bathroom, in the bedroom, in the home office. They love them all. Bathroom has been explained, but office is another matter. Any bags of chips left about are immediately appropriated. CDs are flung from the desk with gleeful abandon. Fast-moving fingers are chased across the keyboard, laps are investigated, and choice pieces of food left in front of mummy since she is evidently unable to pick them out herself. Eventually Onion will clamber up my shoulder and begin grooming my hair - all the while chittering away in my ear like the finest salon worker, while Fiskas continues her long-standing dominance battle against the speaker.
The bedroom is their favourite. No contest. They love blues and Bob Marley and will hide under the bed and sulk until one or the other is put on. The couch is investigated. Bookcases are climbed, fishtanks are fallen into. Standing high on top of her cage, Fiskas foofs in triumph while Onion curls up under the doona at my feet. Every so often a set of silky whiskers will emerge to sample the air, gradually revealing more and more of the rat until with a POUNCE she leaps upon Fiskas as she burrows in the bin and a melee ensues. The couch is gnawed. Onion scales the bedside table and chews on my water bottle as Fiskas knocks the worry balls off their perch and attacks them in her endless quest to prove there is NOTHING too large to fit in her mouth. Onion moves to the window sill and sniffs the intriguing scents wafting through the flyscreen as Fiskas burrows through their toychest before coming out with the Ferret Ball. Patient paws scrabble and claw at the ball's operating mechanism, until conceding defeat, Fiskas ups on her hind legs and uses her forepaws to roll the ball over to Onion.
Fiskas stares.
Onion stares
Fiskas stares. And stares. And stares...
Eventually Onion accedes and daintily makes her way down the CD rack before pushing and turning the button to activate the ball.
Ball goes crazy. Fiskas goes crazy. Onion goes crazy.
And mummy laughs her arse off.
Rat Football
It all started with an almond. Just a simple. Little. Almond.
Fiskas investigated the almond. Then wandered off. Onion investigated the almond, then decided waste not, want not, and took it over to her food stash.
Suddenly it became the most desired thing in the whole cage. Fiskas had to have it! It was hers! Fair means or foul!
From this single event has evolved the masterful game of Rat Football. Its goals are simple - take the almond and run like hell. Defend the ball from the quivering whiskers and grasping paws of your valiant opponent! Should your opponent seize this marvellous prize, it must be regained at all costs!
Neither of them are particularly interested in eating it, it's merely a pawn in the eternal game of Rat Chess.
These are but a few tales of tails...be sure to tune in next time for
TALES OF RAT TERROR!!
