Categories > Original > Humor
“Mom, there’s something wrong with Wago!” my twelve-year-old daughter, Micah, said, her voice quivering with emotion – her teary-eyed eight-year-old sister, Ariel, by her side.
“I’ll be right there,” I responded, trying to clear my head of deep-sleep grogginess.
Earlier, I had sprayed the house for bugs, using those cans of insecticide that you set off like tear gas. Making sure I didn’t leave any wanted creatures in the house, I had packed both of the pets – a cat and a rat – in the family van and had taken them along for a family fun day at the park.
The rat, Wago, was good about finding his way back to his own cage in my daughters’ room, so we released him at the front door, along with the cat, and commenced the tedious job of putting away the dishes and wiping down surfaces as directed on the insecticide cans.
Still recovering from the exhaustive work, I answered my daughter’s summons.
As I entered their room, I looked towards Wago’s cage – he appeared to be in mid-climb on the dresser. Micah had a leather purse next to the cage, to which Wago was clinging. I watched him for a moment, before realizing that not only was he not moving, he wasn’t breathing.
Not wanting to upset my daughters until I was sure, I said, “Well, maybe he fell asleep before he got to his cage.”
I reached out to touch Wago, and he was stiff. Apparently, he had expired in mid-approach.
“I hate to say this, but I think Wago’s dead.” Behind me, the wailing commenced. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the best way to break the news, but what do you expect at two in the morning?
“You know, I’m going to put Wago in his cage and take him out to the garage, just for the night.”
I grabbed the rat, doing my best to act like it wasn’t grossing me out, and I pulled him off the purse. KRIIIIIISHICKT! It sounded exactly like Velcro being pulled apart. I managed to keep all emotion from my face, even as the bile rose in my throat. I swallowed it down as a voice in my head said, “and the Academy Award goes to….”
I left both my daughters crying as I took the cage and dead rat out to the garage. I set it on the floor, and took a couple of minutes to do the dance of the extremely grossed-out, before gathering myself together and returning to comfort my daughters.
As I walked into their room, they were not only crying, but also laughing.
“My God, Mom,” my twelve-year-old said, tears of grief and mirth running down her cheeks. “That was the funniest and grossest thing we have ever seen.”
The three of us bonded as we laughed and cried over the loss of a beloved pet rat.
“I’ll be right there,” I responded, trying to clear my head of deep-sleep grogginess.
Earlier, I had sprayed the house for bugs, using those cans of insecticide that you set off like tear gas. Making sure I didn’t leave any wanted creatures in the house, I had packed both of the pets – a cat and a rat – in the family van and had taken them along for a family fun day at the park.
The rat, Wago, was good about finding his way back to his own cage in my daughters’ room, so we released him at the front door, along with the cat, and commenced the tedious job of putting away the dishes and wiping down surfaces as directed on the insecticide cans.
Still recovering from the exhaustive work, I answered my daughter’s summons.
As I entered their room, I looked towards Wago’s cage – he appeared to be in mid-climb on the dresser. Micah had a leather purse next to the cage, to which Wago was clinging. I watched him for a moment, before realizing that not only was he not moving, he wasn’t breathing.
Not wanting to upset my daughters until I was sure, I said, “Well, maybe he fell asleep before he got to his cage.”
I reached out to touch Wago, and he was stiff. Apparently, he had expired in mid-approach.
“I hate to say this, but I think Wago’s dead.” Behind me, the wailing commenced. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the best way to break the news, but what do you expect at two in the morning?
“You know, I’m going to put Wago in his cage and take him out to the garage, just for the night.”
I grabbed the rat, doing my best to act like it wasn’t grossing me out, and I pulled him off the purse. KRIIIIIISHICKT! It sounded exactly like Velcro being pulled apart. I managed to keep all emotion from my face, even as the bile rose in my throat. I swallowed it down as a voice in my head said, “and the Academy Award goes to….”
I left both my daughters crying as I took the cage and dead rat out to the garage. I set it on the floor, and took a couple of minutes to do the dance of the extremely grossed-out, before gathering myself together and returning to comfort my daughters.
As I walked into their room, they were not only crying, but also laughing.
“My God, Mom,” my twelve-year-old said, tears of grief and mirth running down her cheeks. “That was the funniest and grossest thing we have ever seen.”
The three of us bonded as we laughed and cried over the loss of a beloved pet rat.
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