When my first rat, Timo, has died, Scipio and me couldn’t bear to look at the empty place where his cage used to be located. After a few days Scipio found a place that sold rats, exchanged mails with the owner, then sent me pictures of two beautiful cute little rats, black and white. I fell in love with them immediately, although I didn’t really plan to get new rats — but once I saw those pictures, I was conquered. He brought them home soon afterwards.

They were brothers, but they grew up to be extremely different. The white rat, called Sheep due to his white, woolly fur, was the dominant one; brave, easily angered, stronger and more of an explorer. The black one, Mole, was easily scared, ran away when I tried to catch him, then slowly came back only to run away at any sign of movement from me. They had a strange SM kind of relationship — Sheep would beat and bite Mole, but when it seemed they were in peace, Mole would provoke Sheep until the fight resumed.

A few months ago they contracted a strange foot infection. Initially Scipio and me thought it would just go away on its own, but it wouldn’t go away for a few weeks and so we went to the vet. Antibiotics were prescribed and we gave the rats their meds on bits of bread, which they devoured happily. But the infection didn’t go away. Painkillers were added. Then dosage was upped. Mole recovered completely, but Sheep didn’t. He lost weight. Then he lost more weight. Then he started trying to sit on his ass (rats don’t sit on their ass, they don’t have one). Then he stopped walking or running and started crawling. Then I’d start finding him lying flat in the cage, immobile, looking half-dead already, like a spine covered with thinning, balding fur. He didn’t want to eat. I was told we had to stop with the antibiotic because he was taking it for too long; I gave him the painkiller alone. At the beginning he fought violently — I had to force the meds into his mouth because he didn’t want to eat it on bread anymore. Then he stopped fighting. And the painkiller stopped working.

Sheep was put down to sleep this morning. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, then I burst into tears the moment the doctor admitted me in. She told me we did all we could do and that I shouldn’t feel guilty. I didn’t feel guilty; I felt heartbroken. And very, very lonely. It didn’t feel fair that I had to be the one to make this decision. And then, once that happened, I had to go home, clean the cage, the transport box and go to work. You don’t get a day off to mourn a rat.

*

Less than two weeks ago I called my mother and found out my grandmother has cancer in her glands. The doctors said they could perhaps operate, but she could as well die on the operating table — she’s not exactly young. They didn’t know where the cancer came from; she had it in her jaw before, and apparently the glands are a secondary place to have cancer, so it meant that it either came from the one in her jaw a few years ago, or… somewhere else.

Last Thursday, a week ago, I called my mom and found out grandma said no to surgery; she didn’t want to die on the operating table, she didn’t want any more pain (the jaw surgery left her with practically non-stop pain). I called grandma, and she cried and said she just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again. I put down the receiver and I felt, again, very, very lonely. Then I cried a bit. Then I had to pull myself back together, as I had until the next day to finish renovating my old apartment and return the keys to the agency.

I am going to Poland this weekend to, well, say goodbye. The doctors refused to give an estimate of how much time she has left; she’s in very bad shape altogether, and the cancer isn’t her only problem, although it is the biggest. I have to go there, visit her, keep on smiling and being upbeat and pretending everything is OK and that I’m there sort of accidentally and not at all because I fear I might never have a chance to tell her again that I love her.

This is what being a grown up is like. You kids who can’t wait to start drinking and smoking without asking older people to buy you the booze and cigs might want to think about it.

Despite the blog silence, I haven’t actually died. I just haven’t had internet at home for weeks now. (Thank you xs4all, you may be sure I will tell everyone I know about the quality of your services.)

There are things happening, of course. Not having internet means I have time to do other things — like music. I have finished the instrumentals for a new shadowfighter album, “Three” which will be released in March (I assume here I will have finished the vocals by then). A new website shall follow, well, when I have internet. Also regular blogging shall resume then. And regular MSN presence. Etc.

In other news, one of my rats, Sheep, is not doing very well. Both boys caught a nasty feet infection, but while Mole pretty much recovered (the vet says his feet will never look the same again, but he’s a fat, happy rat with lots of energy and that’s what matters), Sheep lost over 20% of his body weight, can barely walk despite heavy doses of painkillers and, in general, doesn’t look good. His fur now has balding patches and the fact that he now associates me with being force-fed antibiotics doesn’t help because as a result he hates me, doesn’t trust me a bit and bites me at every opportunity (and I can’t blame the poor thing after what I do to him — as smart as he is, I haven’t found a way yet to explain to him that the nasty syringe is for his own good). It breaks my heart to see him wobble on his swollen feet, and it breaks my heart double that I can’t really do anything more for him than I do already…

Almost got rid of the old apartment now. Started painting it and to my surprise that’s going quite well, although I have to say it isn’t the most enjoyable work I have ever done. (I mean, I am painting white over my lovely colours. A person that doesn’t like sunny yellow walls and prefers them to be white must vote right-wing. Yes, this was an insult.) I also managed to sell an old sofa for 1 euro, so I am now basking in money. Yay! Well I would be, if not for the fact I have about 600 euro to pay in bills. Well, 599 more sofas and I am done.

What else — the new Saint Etienne single is absolutely fucking fantastic. (The Saint Etienne mailing list traditionally hate it. Someone even said that the Etienne entered their Modern Talking phase, which is a major insult, plus, completely untrue. They have entered their Kylie-when-she-gets-things-right phase.) It’s one of those songs for which the phrase “unashamedly pop” was invented, it’s sexy, slick, dancey, youthful and it makes me do that walk (you know which one) and pretend that I am a blonde teenage girl called Sarah, wooing boys at a disco. Marvellous.

It only takes a moment to rewrite every single page
you never know
when you feel your eyes lock and engage,
changing time forever (oh oh oh oh oh)
there’s no sense or reason why we’re shot
with the bolt of blue
and there’s no path for the heart to follow,
no one side that you have to choose

you know there’s more, there’s more than one love
you know there’s more, there’s more than one love
you know there’s more, there’s more, there’s more to love