She placed a new layer of newspaper into each cage and poured some wood shavings over that; then she replaced the rat toys, the little cardboard houses, the hiding-tubes and the food dishes, which she must have removed and washed before we got there.
“Okay,” she said. “You can put those guys back in now.”
Oscar had climbed up to my right shoulder and was sitting comfortably tucked in under my ear.
“Hey, I think he likes you,” Mini said.
I grinned, pleased. Carefully, I lifted the rat off my shoulder, feeling surprisingly reluctant to put him back in the cage. I held him in my hands for a moment, and he poked his head out between my fingers and stared at me.
“You’ve gotta go back now, Oscar,” I told him as I lifted him up to the cage. I reached in through the open cage top, and Oscar leapt from my hands. As I pulled away, he scurried to the top of the cardboard house, stood on his hind legs and stretched up his pointy nose. It was almost as if he were trying to get closer to me, or at least get a better look. Maybe he really did like me.
“Wait! Not in that cage,” Mini said as Mercedes started to put her rat in with Oscar. “We don’t want to mix the males and the females or we’ll have even more rats to look after.”
“Oops, sorry,” Mercedes said, quickly shifting her white rat to the next cage. “There you go, Lacy,” she crooned as she let the rat go.
Erika’s and Annie’s rats followed Lacy.
“Why is Oscar by himself?” I asked Mini.
“Boys don’t always get along,” she explained. “But the girls like to socialize,” she added with a wink at me.
We moved on to the next cages, and I glanced back at Oscar, alone in his cage, his nose pointed after me, his twisted whiskers twitching.
Trapped
After we’d finished sweeping out the small-animal room, Mini let us go, saying we could come back again on Friday if we wanted to.
“Hey!” she called out, following us to the reception area. “If any of you want to foster one or two of the small animals, that would be a big help. Ask your parents.”
“Foster?” Mercedes asked.
“Take them home and look after them for a while,” Mini explained. “The small-animal room is overcrowded, and it would make my job easier if some of the animals were fostered out.”
“How long would we get to keep them?” Erika asked.
“Two weeks—maybe a bit longer. By then we’ll know if the SPCA is getting custody of the animals.”
“What do you mean by custody?” Mercedes asked, voicing my questions as usual.
“When we get custody, the animals become ours, and we can adopt them out to permanent homes,” explained Mini.
“What about the pet store?” I asked.
“The court case will decide.”
“Court case?” It was Annie this time.
“You kids sound like parrots,” Mini said with a frown.
Annie reddened, and Mini’s eyes laughed again.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I like it when people ask questions. Better than having them shut up and pretend they know something when they don’t. You want to know why there’s a court case? It’s because we’re charging that pet store with cruelty to animals.”
Her last words dropped like a judge’s gavel, and there was a moment of silence.
“We?” Mercedes asked.
“The SPCA,” Mini explained. “The Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.”
We all nodded.
“There are laws against being cruel to animals, you know,” Mini continued. “And we want to make sure people obey those laws. We give them a chance to improve things, and if they don’t, we charge them with cruelty.”
Mini’s face was hard, and she looked ready to personally take on anyone who dared to hurt an animal. Then she grinned again.
“I think your ride’s here,” she said, pointing out the window to where Erika’s dad’s van was pulling into the parking lot.
“So, I’ll see you all on Friday?” she asked as we pulled on our coats and headed for the door.
“Sure, we’ll be here,” we chorused, a little afraid to say anything else.
In the van, everyone began talking at once.
“Rats are so cool,” Mercedes said.
“Dad, can we foster a rat?” Erika asked.
“Rats? I thought you were going to be walking dogs and petting cats,” Mr. Leveson said with a laugh.
“I didn’t really like the rats,” Annie cut in. “The hamster and the rabbit were cuter.”
“But all the hamster did was sleep,” Erika said.
She was right. The one hamster, in a cage all by itself, had stayed in a round furry ball, fast asleep the whole time, barely waking even when it had been lifted out for its cage cleaning.
“Mini said that hamsters are nocturnal,” Mercedes pointed out. “They get active at night and sleep all day.”
“Aren’t rats nocturnal too?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Erika said. “Some of them were sleeping when we first went in.”
“Well, the ones I had to hold weren’t sleeping!” Annie said. She gave a shudder. “And I still hate their tails.”
The rest of us laughed.Soon the van pulled up in front of my house, and I climbed out, thanking Erika’s dad for the ride. I walked around to the back of the house and paused at the bottom of the stairs to check the rat trap Dad had set out behind the garbage can. Empty. I was relieved. It was too weird to think I’d actually been holding a rat just fifteen minutes ago. Was there any point in asking Mom and Dad if I could foster one? I looked at the empty rat trap again and had to laugh. A rat in the house? Not likely.
Still, I was in a good mood as I ran up the back stairs.
I paused at the door. The muted sound of piano music came from inside the house. So much for my good mood.
Jenna was practicing, and it would be my turn next.
“Hi, Mom,” I said as I came through the door into the kitchen and began taking off my shoes. She was standing at the counter, starting supper. I glanced at the chicken-shaped clock that hung on the wall above the kitchen table. Quarter after five already. Dad would be home around six from his job at the bank.
“Hello there. How was your day?” Mom asked, glancing up from a tray of what looked like pork chops. She was covering them with some kind of sauce. Since joining the animal club, I’d started to feel a bit weird about eating animals and had been trying to eat vegetarian whenever I could. Some days Mom actually cooked a vegetarian meal for us, but this obviously wasn’t one of those days. Maybe tonight I could eat cheese instead.
“Good,” I said, ignoring the pork chops. “We went to the animal shelter after school.”
“Hmm.” Mom nodded as she lifted the tray and turned to open the oven door.
I waited for her to ask me about the shelter, but she didn’t.
“I’m going to do some homework,” I told her.
“Okay, dear.” She was back at the counter, focusing on food again. “Don’t forget to wash your hands.”
I made a face, which she didn’t notice, then headed for the bathroom. Passing the door to the living room, I caught a glimpse of Jenna sitting straight-backed at the piano, her brownish black hair pulled into a ponytail. There hadn’t been a pause in her playing since I’d entered the house. The sounds that Bach or Mozart had imagined two or three hundred years ago poured from the piano. They probably wouldn’t mind hearing Jenna play their music, but they’d be rolling in their graves as soon as I got to the keys.
In my room, I closed the door behind me and went straight to my desk. I turned on my radio to a rock music station, then pulled The Complete Guide to Dogs off the shelf above my desk, not wanting to think about piano and not ready to face homework. I flipped idly through the pages, my mind not focusing on the dogs as intently as it usually did.
At the Terrier section I stopped and read:
Terriers have
always enjoyed a close relationship with farmers, for whom they have worked tirelessly, killing rats and other vermin…Their strong, locking jaws and sharp teeth were powerful weapons against animals fighting for their lives.
I pictured Oscar’s trusting grayish brown face and twitching nose. Suddenly, a Jack Russell terrier did not sound as appealing as it had earlier. I flipped back to the section on Retrievers. The Labrador retriever. Now there was a nice dog. A Lab mix like Erika’s dog Jenny—that’s the kind of dog I wanted. The kind of dog that would be a real friend. A dog I could adopt from the shelter.
I tried to conjure up the old daydream of me running beside a beautiful chocolate-colored Lab, but my mind was still clamoring with images from earlier in the afternoon. Piles of cages. Rats, mice, the degu, hamsters, a big white rabbit …the prick of tiny rat claws on my skin, the feel of Oscar’s small body in my hands, the beating of his heart through his warm coarse fur.
“Conner!” Jenna’s voice, muffled by my closed door, interrupted my thoughts.
I turned down the radio.
“What?”
“I’m finished with the piano, and Mom says you’re supposed to practice before supper,” Jenna said.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” I told her; then I turned the radio up again and returned to the dog book.
I tried to read a bit more, but couldn’t muster my old enthusiasm. My mind returned to the afternoon at the shelter, replaying my encounter with Oscar and the other animals. I guess way more than one minute passed. There was a sharp knock on my door, then it opened. I turned, ready to get mad at Jenna, but it was Dad. He was dressed in his work clothes—dark suit, shirt and tie—and he wasn’t smiling.
“Dad! I didn’t hear you come home,” I said, quickly switching off the radio and closing my book.
His thick black eyebrows lowered.
“Your mother says you were called to practice the piano twenty minutes ago,” he said gravely.
I cringed inwardly.
“Sorry, Dad. I lost track of time.”
“Well, you can do ten minutes now and the rest after supper.”
“Okay, Dad,” I said without enthusiasm.
I got slowly to my feet. Dad waited for me by the door, his face softening. As I passed him he smiled and reached out to tousle my hair.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Keep practicing, and some day you’ll be as good as your sister.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’ll never be as good as Jenna,” I mumbled. “I don’t even want to be.”
But Dad didn’t seem to hear. As far as he was concerned, I was going to play the piano, I was going to be good at it and I was going to like it. He refused to believe anything else.
C D E F G A B C. My shoulders slumped as I anticipated the monotony of practicing scales.
I paused in the hall and turned back to Dad.
“Have you ever heard of Chinese water torture?” I asked over my shoulder.
“What?”
I sighed. He’d never understand.
“Oh, nothing,” I said as I headed to the living room.
As I sat down at the piano bench, the image of the rat trap under the stairs snapped into my mind.
Snow
The next day I woke up to discover that snow covered the ground. It probably wouldn’t last, but I wouldn’t be able to take my bike to school.
“I might not be here when you get home after school,” Mom announced at breakfast. “Julie and I are catering a conference next weekend, and we’re going to be doing a lot of preparation over the next few days.”
Julie was Mom’s partner in her catering business. Mom worked at home most days and did a lot of her food preparation there, but when a special event came up, she might disappear with Julie for a day or two, picking up supplies and cooking at Julie’s house. Julie didn’t have any family, so it was easier for them to take over her kitchen to prepare for a bigger event.
“Here, I need you to be guinea pigs,” Mom said, setting a tray on the table in front of Jenna and me. Dad had already left for work.
“I made these last night,” Mom explained. “They’re called Galloping Horses.”
I thought about the term “guinea pig” as I warily eyed the tiny pastry cups filled with an unidentifiable brown mixture. Guinea pigs, like rats and rabbits, were animals that scientists used in experiments. Testing products on animals was one of the topics the animal club had discussed already. I thought of Mrs. Ferguson’s classroom guinea pig, Daisy—the long white fur that hid her face, the gentle squeaking sound she made when the little kids stroked her back. I hated the thought of anyone experimenting on her.
“They’re an appetizer,” Mom was saying. “It’s just a bit of pork, onions, chopped peanuts . . .” She looked hurt when neither of us appeared eager to try the things on the tray.
Finally Jenna reached out and gingerly took a pastry cup.
“What’s that on top?” she asked, looking at the thing in her hand with suspicion.
“It’s just a piece of pineapple,” Mom said, suddenly impatient. “Hurry up. You’re going to be late for school, and I need to know what you think.”
The pineapple wasn’t what concerned me, but I decided not to complain about the meat this time.
Bracing myself for the worst, I grabbed one of the horse things and stuffed it in my mouth. The taste was a mix of spicy, savory and sweet.
“They’re good,” Jenna said.
“Yah,” I agreed unintelligibly, my mouth full.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” Mom complained. “Isn’t my cooking always delicious?”
“Always,” Jenna said, grabbing another appetizer off the tray and beaming at Mom as she bounced up from the table. Mom smiled back, and I felt a twinge of annoyance. Everything Jenna said or did pleased Mom.
I swallowed my Galloping Horse mouthful and tried to think of something impressive that I could add.
“Magnifique,” I said, trying to sound like a fancy
French chef.
“What did you say, Conner?” Mom asked.
“Oh nothing.” I sighed and headed for the back door to get my running shoes and jacket.
“Your French needs some work,” Jenna whispered as she leaned past me to pull on her boots.
“Shut up!” I snapped, a little too loudly.
“Conner!” Mom exclaimed. “Don’t talk to your sister like that.”
“She started it,” I protested.
“I don’t care who started it,” Mom went on. “You two should be able to get along for one morning.”
I gritted my teeth to keep from saying anything more and busied myself with putting on my running shoes.
“Don’t you have any boots?” Mom asked. “Your feet are going to get wet.”
“My boots are too small. I’ll be fine,” I said, shouldering my backpack and opening the back door.
“I’ll take you to buy boots as soon as this catering job is finished,” Mom said as she turned back to the kitchen.
Once Mom’s back was turned, Jenna pushed by me, her bulky backpack and violin case bumping against my side.
“Watch it,” I hissed, keeping my voice low.
“Thanks for holding the door, little brother,” she said in a fake-sweet voice as she flounced down the stairs.
Gritting my teeth with frustration, I stepped after Jenna just as Mom came up behind me. She caught the door before I could close it and leaned out after us.
“Be careful on the stairs,” she called. “They’re slippery.”
I rolled my eyes. Why did it feel like the warning was only for me? I couldn’t even go down a bunch of ordinary steps without Mom thinking she had to give me directions.
Jenna was already off the last step and disappearing around the corner of the house when my foot slipped. I grabbed for the stair railing and caught myself just in time.
“And watch out for that rat,” Mom called after me.
Despite
my annoyance, I had to smile. Did she expect the rat to leap out and ambush me at the bottom of the stairs?
On the last step I craned my head around the corner and looked at the garbage can. It was covered in white, like a big iced cookie. There were no marks, no footprints.
“No sign of it,” I called up to Mom.
“Oh, good,” she said, relief in her voice. “Maybe the snow chased it away.”
“Maybe,” I said, hoping it was true and hoping there wasn’t a dead rat in the trap under the snow.
At school I was greeted by a snowball in the face. I wiped the cold stuff from my eyes and caught sight of Jake by the school-ground fence, raising his arm for another throw. His face looked dark against the snow, and his eyes seemed narrowed. For a second I wondered if he was mad at me, but there was no time to think or to protest. I ducked quickly, reaching down to grab a handful of snow at the same time. My retaliating snowball exploded across Jake’s jacket front. The war was on.
Snowballs flew back and forth. Finally, laughing and covered with snow, we called a truce as the buzzer rang, signalling us to go inside.
“You’re not supposed to throw snowballs on the school grounds,” a little kid said as she hurried by us, her pale face barely visible between a large red toque and a thick blue scarf.
Jake and I looked at each other and laughed. But still, there was a tiny tug of uncertainty somewhere inside me. Had the snowball fight been just for fun? Or had there been something else behind Jake’s attack?
By lunch break, I had forgotten my concern. The snow was still on the ground, and Jake and I joined a group of kids rolling snowballs to make a fort. As usual, the lunch-hour monitors were on patrol, which meant no one could get away with throwing snowballs. Some grade one and two kids were seeing how big a snowball they could roll.
When it got too large for them to push, they asked for our help. There wasn’t much snow on the ground, so as we rolled the ball along, it began to pick up bits of rock and dirt from the gravel field under the snow. By the end of lunch hour, the field was mostly bare gray with a few large, dirty snowballs stranded in the middle of it.
Truth About Rats and Dogs Page 3
