When I return home from work Bruce greets me in a manic explosion of joyous wailing, jumping, and kisses. I sometimes imagine him at home with his well used worry beads, licking them all day long. "Will she ever return? Where is she? How long has she been gone? Why can't I tell how long it's been?!" I let him outside and he keeps an eye on me while he's marking this tree. I see him twitch his nose, look down at the ground and actually jump away as if screaming "What the f*&k is this?!" I walk over to investigate and there's this rat staring up at us. Bruce is by the front door at this point, he's abandoned me. Woman’s best friend my ass. Like any god (and rat) fearing American, I grab a stick and poke it. It's dead but it looks alive. I poke it a little more so I can see if it's missing any parts, or search for some cause of death. Bupkiss. It looks young; around my age in rat years. So, old age shouldn't be the cause. I C...
Here's my hot take.