Boober, R.I.P.

This is how I'll always remember Boober. He came into our lives on a whim, just because I made a phone call to a local pet store to see if they had a boy. A rescue had come in, they said. We went to see him, and it was love at first sight. He was shy, but friendly. A big boy, with an incredibly thick, beautiful coat of hair, and big dark eyes that connected to a kind, old soul. But he was just a rat, you say. That he was - a big buck of indeterminate age and background - but to know him was to love him. The last weeks were spent mostly in Christopher's arms, getting hand-fed and lovingly stroked. During his last night, I held him as best as I could into the wee hours of the morning; Boober lurched periodically in obvious pain, sometimes crawling out of my arm as if trying to escape it. I finally put him to bed, wishing I could hold him to the end, but knowing he needed to be safe from falling. His last act - out of pain and maybe a little out of need - was jumping up onto the door and hanging on, looking at me, before jumping down. I found him this morning laying by that door, waiting...