RIP Walter Bond, Jr.

We lost one of our family's bright lights this weekend, and I'm going to feature him in today's animal post.  Walter died from the cancer that he has bravely fought for the last few weeks (probably months, but they are good at hiding symptoms from us).  He was preceded in death by his sweet brother Womble (who we also miss tremendously), who died a couple of months ago after losing the battle with his chronic respiratory condition.  


We adopted Walter and his two brothers, Womble, and Quince, a couple of years ago, and they were six months old when they came to live with us. They were our first rats.

Walter was always the biggest and most outgoing of the group. He led and they followed. He loved people, exploring, and most of all, food.  He has always been the social butterfly of the group and got along with the other seven rats (though we're now down to a total of six) in our household.  Immediately upon opening L's bedroom door, he would make a beeline over to greet his visitor(s).

His other favorite activity was napping with his brothers. Despite having several houses, hammocks, pods, hideys, etc., the three boys most often piled into one little hut/hammock together instead of using their own. 

He was pretty fearless, much like Flower, our tiniest female rat, and loved to ride around the house on shoulders. He liked to play with and groom the cats (Tica and Ivan were favorites) and did a pretty good job and grooming L & I as well.

He was such happy, charming little guy, that it was impossible not to smile when spending time with him. It was also nearly impossible to deny him my food when he asked for it (or stole it), much to L's chagrin. He was incredibly strong, and I quickly learned that if he actually got a hold of a piece of my food, I could not get it back from him. It shocked me to lose a tug-of-war battle with a little rat the first time it happened, but I continued to lose almost every time.  He REALLY loved his food.  He loved sharing my fruit/veggie/protein post-workout smoothies, and enjoyed those up to the end when he could eat little else.  He would grab the spoon and hold on with his tiny little hands and lick as fast as he could, and if I didn't get the next spoon loaded in time, he would try to reach right into the glass.

This may be a bit too soon for me to write as thoroughly as I would like. I'm struggling with emotions and trying to keep it together while writing, because I spent the majority of the weekend ugly crying and swollen eyed, and I'd like to not invite another cry migraine.  He had a little dark spot of fur on his otherwise-

white right hip, and L & I always liked his cute little spot. Somehow it was seeing that spot, when I turned him over to wrap him up and prepare him for burial, that killed the thin layer of composure I had maintained.  I miss that little spot so much.