I was at CVS once last year. First of all, this can be awkward to start off, because I inevitably run into someone I know, but I'm not really friends with, and there's always a long line at CVS. So we have to stand in line together. For about twenty minutes.
But this was an especially awkward visit to CVS. I got to the counter and was innocently paying for my NyQuil, cough drops and Advil (don't ask...) when I noticed that the woman at the register was crying. I was briefly torn between pretending to be legally blind and asking her if she needed help. My compassionate side won out. (Note to readers: don't let this happen to you if you don't want to hear some really awkward story. Resist the temptation to give into your good intentions).
She told me that she'd had to put her pet down three days ago. I made some sympathetic noises, legititmately feeling sorry for her as she professed that her pet had been like her child. She told me he'd been only two years old. This is how the rest of the conversation went:
Unsuspecting Me: That is young for a dog to die, I'm so sorry.
Devastated Pet Mother: Oh... he wasn't a dog.
Unsuspecting Me: A cat?
Devastated Pet Mother: No... he was a rat.
Unsuspecting Me (blinking and completely speechless): ...oh.
She went on to tell me that she'd adopted the rat - I think the word she used was saved - off the of the Drag, which is possibly the grungiest, dirtiest street in Austin, Texas. Her pet was a feral animal that had survived off the garbage on the Drag (which I know from a volunteer event contains bullets, condoms, cigarettes and needles, plus probably a lot more). It had had a seizure about six months ago and was paralyzed for the last part of its life.
That's when I tried to make my quick getaway. Don't get me wrong: if you love rats, okay. If you would pay a veterinarian to treat a rat for a seizure, feed it and clean its waste because it has total paralysis for six months, and then pay again to have it euthanized... okay (well, not quite as okay. You have too much money and not enough human companionship.) But she was becoming hysterical and there was a long line of students holding cartons of orange juice to mix with their moonshine behind me. And she was still holding my credit card. I subtly reached for it, but she didn't let go. A strange little tug of war commenced, until I finally squeaked out, "Well, I really must run, but I'm so sorry for your loss." She heaved a sob and nodded, finally letting go of my card.
Now every time I walk the drag, I keep an eye out for rats that, you know, need saving.
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