I have a tenant in a small apartment next to my house. It takes a special kind of person, not easily found, to occupy this space since there are stinkbugs and lady bugs in spring, and I have to tell him or her about the resident black snake. Harder to ask is, “Are you okay cohabitating with mice and rats?”
The perfect tenant, Alexander, moved in this past January. A vegan, Buddhist, cello-playing, piano tuner. Being Buddhist, he has no interest in killing rodents, snakes, or bugs. However, he did come to me and tell me “the rat” was waking him up five and six times a night. He wasn’t angry as he explained to me he already felt a bond with the furry being. He knew its routine and route through the walls! But to be fair, one can’t rent a space with a resident rat—a noisy resident rat at that. Readers of LaJoie might know I have used contraception on both the mice and rats. We live in the country after all and poison and glue traps will never be an option for me, no matter how convenient they prove for my neighbors.
I’d seen and heard the rat, too, and it’s said if you see one you have 500. Well, let’s hope not. In any case, after several long talks with Alexander we decided to try to trap the rat in a live trap and I’d keep the bait station with the contraception going strong as well to ward off litters of babies.
The first few nights revealed nothing. Rats are smart. Whereas mice are curious and will readily go into a trap, rats are often too wary and too savvy, testing all angles first. On the fourth night, however, Alexander heard a struggle taking place, but in his groggy state, he remained in bed. In the morning, he assumed he’d find a rat in the trap, but on inspection, no rat.
He told me he thought the rat was too big for the live trap (and this was a large trap!) and that it had gotten stuck (the struggle he heard in the night) and somehow managed to get out. Now we realized, it would not be going back in.
Next solution: I brought forth my small animal trap, used for wounded skunk, fox, coon, etc. We set it up in the crawlspace and waited to see what the dawn would unveil. I had very low expectations, I have to say. But come morning, when I called to Alex, he said he had a rat.
In the wee morning hours, he’d heard a commotion, and went to investigate. A frantic and frightened rat stood clawing at the wire sides. Alex walked closer, looked the animal in the eye, and said, “Please just wait. It’s okay. I’m here to help you.” And with that the rat gazed back at him and settled down. When he told me this story, I nearly cried from joy for I do believe animals understand us far better than we give them credit for—they understand our intentions. Yet so few humas really look and listen to animals, especially those deemed “bad” animals like our little rat or those farm animals destined only for our consumption.
I ran over to look and what beautiful creature it was. The rat was missing one leg, probably the victim of a snap trap at some point in life. Perhaps caught, the rat pulled free or had resorted to biting off the leg and miraculously recovered. A rat with that much perseverance I felt should be allowed to live.
Nearby, there are two wonderful wildlife sanctuaries and we called one.
“If you bring the rat in to us, we are required to euthanize it,” stated the volunteer.
“But it’s so sweet-looking and kind,” I said.
“It’s the law.”
“I understand.”
“Hold on a sec. Does it by chance have a hairy tail? With a white strip underneath?”
I put the wire cage up on a table and looked up at the rat’s underside, apologizing as I did for this somewhat untoward action. Although getting caught in a trap probably trumped my peeking at undersides.
“Yes, it does.”
“Okay then, it’s a woodrat. If you could take pictures and send them to me, I can confirm.”
Had we brought the rat to them, they would have been required to euthanize it unless it was a woodrat, an Alleghany Woodrat to be precise. We took pictures and checked under the tail (a hairy tail with a white stripe underneath is the woodrat, while the Norway or other rats, have the hairless whip tails we’re used to associating with rats.) It turns out this woodrat is a threatened species.
When they told us they would see about a breeding program and relocation, we were overjoyed. It felt as if the universe was saying: trusting compassion is always the way to walk forth in the world.
The woodrat, unlike the Norway rat, is vegetarian, existing almost entirely on seeds, stems, leaves, fruits, and acorns. It’s nocturnal and unlike other rats, is a slow breeder, with only two kits per litter on average. It is docile and meticulously clean, thereby posing no threat to human safety like other rats can.
Yet all was not well. Sophie the woodrat (yes, we named her after the staff told us our rat was a she) would not eat, acted stressed and would therefore not be a good candidate for an ambassador animal at the sanctuary. The staff told us they would either have to euthanize her or relocate her. We knew if she returned to our/her home, she would continue to run through the walls and wake up Alexander at night. But I also am aware that relocating an animal far from the home they know (the crevices, rocks, streams, or equally the nooks and crannies of our house!) did not leave it with the best chance for survival. Since we did not want Sophie euthanized, she was set free on a property one mile away.
I felt sad. Our home had been her home, too. She may have been noisy at night, but she was not destructive. She was clean, curious, kind, quite cute, a survivor, and most of all, I’m sure she loved her home as we did ours.
Will Sophie make it in her new environment? I think of her daily. In the Chinese New Year, the Rat comes first and symbolizes success. Rats are also very adaptable. We have only to look at their proliferation despite centuries of human attempts to eradicate them. I hope the traits of success and adaptability bode well for Sophie, but if you will, spare a thought for a small woodrat on three legs and that she be looked after and make a go of her new home.
Spring has unfolded all around us: the trees and fields are full of song. Bees tick against the window panes as they go from daffodil to tulip to hyacinth. The breeze blows the blossoms on the fruit trees and each morning the air is filled with the sweet scent of the viburnum—the smell of spring. Despite human folly, which seems never more pronounced than now, the world keeps thrumming along. Paisley is out in the fields stomping this way then that, nose to ground, hunting. Sparkle, showing the first signs of age—white flecks on eyelids and muzzle—has already come in. They both told me they would have easily taken care of Sophie the woodrat but I explained that is not how we operate around here.
Everything around us is suddenly greening up, acting as if all is well with the world. There are noticeably fewer insects and birds. But perhaps not fewer rats and somewhere out in the fields, I hope Sophie the woodrat is burrowing, and perhaps raising her young.
Sophie, the wood rat.