2003-09-27 at 5:45 p.m.

At about 3:30 today, Jane rang my mobile to tell me that she thought my pet rat, Ruby, had stopped breathing.

Upon arriving home, I found it was true.

Poor Ruby Tuesday. She had a long life (living to the grand old age of three-and-a-half, when normally rats only live for 2-3 years, tops. She outlived her sister Chai, who died of old age, by almost a year) but not a very good one in her last few weeks. She developed a (benign) cancerous tumor on her hind leg earlier in the year, which I simply couldn't afford to get taken off (the surgery probably would have killed her anyway, she'd passed her life expectancy already at that point). It didn't bother her too much, and she was still climbing around and generally being a smart-arsed wench as usual. Over the last month or so, though, the tumor swelled quite dramatically in size and soon, Ruby was finding it difficult to walk. In fact, I was going to take her to the vet sometime next week to be put to sleep. She looked so sad and tired all the time.

I'm glad she went in her sleep in familiar surroundings, though, rather than in a vet's office. She deserved that much.

In her rememberance, I'd like to present a 'Ruby's Greatest Hits' type package of memories. (Folks, if you're not interested in the pet-based reminiscences of others, reading on is probably not advised. Go here for something far more entertaining).

-Once, while out for a run, Ruby managed to get behind the cupboard in the spare room. No amount of calling, cajoling, or stomping around the skirting board would coax her out. In desperation, I resorted to bribery. I got a bit of cheese and held it near the gap between cupboard and wall, periodically blowing on it to waft the scent of cheesy goodness in Ruby's direction.

It worked. She came slowly creeping out, and tentatively inching towards the cheese. Suddenly, she broke into a run, snatched the cheese from my hand, and bolted back behind the cupboard.

I said a few dozen words even I'd never heard before. To add insult to injury, from beneath the cupboard there came the sound of satisfied munching.

Attempt number two was more successful. My grip on that cheese was somewhat akin of a barnacle's hold on... whatever the hell it is barnacles hold on to. Ruby tried playing tug of war for a while, then realised the danger and tried to run. This time she was too slow. Her indignant squeaks of protest at being shut back in the cage were quickly overcome when I gave her the rest of the cheese.

-One day she got lodged up the leg of my jeans. (Below the knee, all you dirty minded people). I had to remove my pants in order to get her out. For some reason, rats don't come with a 'Reversing' option.

-She used to forcibly hold Chai down and groom her. In order to do this, she would push Chai over onto her back and then sit heavily on her stomach. Nothing could break that hold. Ruby was the pro-wrestling champion of the rat world.

-I've never known another living creature that liked corn quite so much. She would almost literally inhale the stuff. I often wondered how one would perform the Heimlich Maneuver on a rat, but thankfully never had to find out first hand.

-I had to go and sit in the car while waiting for my sister's flight to leave at Sydney Airport on a hot summer day, and blast the air conditioning for an hour and a half so the damn rat wouldn't overheat. (I would have brought her into the terminal, but I hate to think what Customs would have made of her).

-The first time I met her, she was pooping under my friend Jill's bed. That about says it all, really.

Goodbye, Shortarse. I'll miss you.