Once upon a time, there was a pet store whose owner couldn't tell that no, those are not males with strangely withheld bollocks and was rewarded with a population explosion of baby rats. And so she sold them for a penny for snakebites. And thus I got myself a rat.
I decided to save at least the one. She had adorable eyes and the moment I made my decision, I had the gut feeling it was the right thing to do (even though I'm not the kind of person who usually shelters anything designed as pet food, since I do have it in my thick brain that yes, snakes eat rats and it's perfectly fine, healthy and normal). If I find a better home for her, I'll hand her over to whoever is loving and caring enough. If not, well... rats are not exactly high maintenance and I guess I'll survive having another waterbowl to fill every morning for the year or two she's gonna be around (petstore bred dwarf rats not being the stars in their longevity).
I'm surprised how trusting she is. Considering she lived on a pile with dozens of others and when I got her, her caretakers lifted her by the tail, I doubt she's seen a human hand. Yet she lets me scoop her up. Hell, she spent half the time it took me to paint this nested on my shoulder, either nibbling on a cherry or sleeping, or washing herself (and being helluva ticklish fiend in the process).
Oh well. Nice warm break from work, short as it was, now back to it. Silence being caused by having several deadlined (and some of them well-paid to compensate) jobs on my hand, should be temporary. Meanwhile, check the comic, yes, we're back to making it.