Clicquot was my first rat.
I loved her dearly and she loved me -- none of my other rats have been as ace. She was always happy to see me and we enjoyed each other's company.

Clicquot danced when she was happy. If I gave her a nice piece of food, she'd run around with it for a while, then sit down and eat it, then resume running and jumping around as if in victory. If I gave her a prawn (her favourite treat) she'd dance for about ten minutes, then be absolutely cream crackered from the exertion and go to sleep for a few hours.

You know those little birds that hop around in a crocodile's mouth, picking its teeth clean, in return for which the croc lets them do it and doesn't eat them? Clicquot used to lick my braces clean for me.

She used to climb up my face onto my head when she wanted a better vantage point, and she'd jump into my shirtsleeves and run around inside my shirt. She thought it was a great adventure playground. She especially liked it when I linked my sweatshirt arms together so she could walk straight into one to the other.

When we'd finished a meal I'd get her out of her cage and let her run around on the table licking all the plates clean (my mum only tolerated this because we had a dishwasher). She loved being given yoghurt lids to lick clean too. She liked yoghurt - when I gave her a yoghurt-flavoured rat treat she'd lick her whiskers afterwards in a very endearing manner.

I miss you, Clicquot. I cried bucketfuls when you had to be put to sleep.
( Bob Todd whee, Sat 9 Jun 2007, 2:49, Reply)