More than that

This weekend I finalized the adoption of Ash the rat. While the decision to adopt seemed to mean one thing at first glance, it turned out to be laden with other significance. I thought that bringing home Ash marked my final adoption. No more room in the inn, that sort of thing. That hasn’t changed. I still don’t want any more pets. But meeting this abandoned and jostled animal had the odd effect of helping me come to terms with an internal conflict.

See, we all need certain things to get by and it seems like shelter, food and community would round out the list of basics. It does. But there is that curious need for more than that. When something or someone languishes, it’s often obvious only to the individual why. The rest of us usually can’t see the deficit from the outside.

When I agreed to adopt Ash, I was told that I was taking in a special needs pet. These designations are used by rescue agencies to flag two types of pets: those that are sick and those that are poor companions. Ash fell mainly into the latter category. She wasn’t in tip top shape but more importantly, she had been biting her foster and exhibiting a general disinterest in life. I learned that Ash had been bumped from house to house, living with three caretakers and twice as many rats in one year. By the time she was surrendered to the agency, she seemed to have lost the qualities people look for in pets.

Before I ever saw Ash I saw her glove. The foster caretaker handed me an old ragged glove and proceeded with a cautionary tale of a fearful vicious animal. It is likely, I was told, that Ash was past the point of socialization and just needed a comfortable place to live out her remaining year. The glove was repeatedly emphasized as necessary and important. At no time would this foster attempt to handle Ash without it. I shouldn’t either.

I’ve seen mean animals and animals that react first with fear and aggression. I took this person’s warning seriously. Even when I peered into the pet carrier to see a curious little girl looking out, I tempered my instinct to stick my hand in and give her an ear rub. I watched her for some time. Later, I tentatively put my hand near her to let her smell me. Hours after that, I noticed her trying to climb her carrier to visit me. I opened the top of the carrier and watched. To my surprise, a timid Ash scurried out of the cage and into my lap. She spent the next two hours dozing and bruxing from ear rubs.

The first few days with Ash have been like this. I find myself wanting to cry as I watch her seeking out a warm hand and friendly lap. I have never taken out the blue glove. I haven’t needed to. Ash is nothing like the rat described to me. I don’t doubt that she was the way the foster described her. Without being given whatever it is that she really needed – love, companionship, maybe a little trust – she probably was nippy.

And I know how it is to get nippy for very obscure reasons. Sometimes it can be so hard to pin down what’s missing. Before adopting these unlikely pets I was starting to need a blue glove of my own. Although I had everything a person could want for a good life, something was missing. I needed something more. There’s no telling why the rats have jump-started my happiness. Like Ash, something just fit. And I realize today that the reason doesn’t really matter.