odoriusagi
Member
Last week, I posted joyfully about my husband and myself adopting two active, relatively young, well-socialized male rats from a local shelter. For the last 6 days, we have showered them with love, treats and care, and really enjoy watching their antics. They haven't bonded with us, but one of them (Castielle, dumbo siamese) happily clambers up onto our shoulders and will fall asleep there. Mimo, a black berkshire, doesn't particularly care about us either way, but will eat treats and snuggle with his brother. We figured that it is just a matter of time before they both come to see that we love them and find them so appealing and adorable.
They'd originally been given to the shelter because their previous owners claimed that Castielle had been the aggressor when fighting with Mimo, but apart from posturing and chasing and tussling, they'd end up in the same hammock over and over again.
These are our very first rats (both of us have had cats all of our lives, and I've had gerbils, mice and rabbits), and they live in the lap of ratty luxury (Critter Nation, homemade hammocks, a great view of Montreal, etc.). We did a lot of research before purchasing the supplies and adopting the rats, and I'm not sure I've ever looked forward to something as much as I looked forward to taking these little guys home with me. I counted every single hour.
And take them home I did, last Monday. The foster family hadn't cared for them well, and they were stinky, had diarrhea and were incredibly dirty, but they were bright-eyed, active and playful. I was slightly shocked at their state and desperate to give them a better home. After a couple of days eating Oxbow and plenty of fruits and veggies, they were SO much cleaner and smelled almost pleasant. Every night after work, we come home and let them play for hours on the bed.
Life was grand.
Until last night.
I reached into the boys' cage and gave Castielle a little skritch, which he appreciated as he settled in his hammock. I was going to do the same for Mimo before heading to bed, and I held my hand out to him. He came out of his hidey hole, sniffed, and CHOMP. A pinhole bite, leaking blood. Hurt, I closed the cage and went to wash my hand, figuring he'd just been surprised or I'd woken him up or invaded his space. He'd be fine in the morning. I checked on them in the middle of the night, and they were snuggled together in the hammock, fast asleep.
This morning, we woke up to give the boys their weekend morning playtime (we decided to give them extra playtime on weekends, since we're usually around). I skritched Castielle, which he enjoyed, and reached down to do the same to Mimo. He sauntered over to my hand, appearing quite casual and calm. He sniffed once, and then without warning, delivered a vicious, lightning bite, tearing a chunk out of my finger. Blood flew everywhere as I yanked my hand back. I couldn't even say "no", I just sat, staring at the crater with tears leaking out of my eyes. I sat for a minute or two with the door open, and Mimo methodically gathered all of the toys on the bottom level and threw them at me! Between throws, he rucked up the cage liner and foofed.
I told my husband about Mimo's strange behavior, thinking that maybe he decided not to like ME and wouldn't react the same with my husband. Wrong. Mimo would curiously come out of his hut, grab a drink of water on the way to his hand, and then viciously bite. Steven and I were both bleeding by this point. Something had to be done.
In the course of our research, we'd read RatDaddy's sticky post about immersion. It seemed that Mimo was asserting himself as the dominant rat, acting toward us like an alpha rat would toward a disobedient subordinate. We decided to try immersion.
We donned our winter gloves and took Mimo from the cage (Castielle, sleepy and uninterested, snoozed in the hammock). He puffed up and foofed at us furiously, chattering to beat the band. We set him gently in the play area on the bed and sat down ourselves. Immediately, we were in his face, challenging his aggression. At no point did he show any fear. At no point was he on the defensive. Whenever he encountered one of our hands, he would deliver a furious bite, foofing and posturing, and each time, we would gently swat him, saying "no, Mimo."
At two points, he bit me so unbelievably ferociously that his teeth pierced my leather glove and actually bit THROUGH my fingernail, cracking it from the tip to the quick. One of my knuckles is a 2cm black-purple bruise bordered by deep puncture wounds that refused to stop bleeding even after 30 minutes, and Steven isn't in any better shape. Everything I've ever read about rats indicated that such behavior is not normal, is pretty rare, and should not be tolerated. All I could do was sob to myself as I tried to teach him that he just could NOT behave that way and be our pet. I asked myself why I ever thought I could be a rat mommy, when it seemed that everybody had such loving boys and smart, active, affectionate girls. All of the information had convinced me that rats make some of the best, most intelligent, most affectionate pets ever. How had I so eagerly bought into this? What did I do wrong? What did I not do right?
For two hours we sat with him. He always came back biting, looking for more, and more he got - gentle swatting and firm "no"s. He foofed and puffed and complained and grunted. The weird thing about this entire altercation is the fact that he would continue to curiously explore us, even climbing onto our arms, laps and shoulders, sniffing our faces! But when he found a finger, CHOMP. I was terrified that we were ruining him, until I realized that there was no more to ruin. A vicious, biting rat is as low as you go. And slowly, he stopped biting, and then he stopped nipping. We timed him.
After 15 minutes of no biting or nipping, I took my glove off and offered him my hand. He sniffed it, and I skritched him on his neck, offering him treats, praising him for his gentleness and admonishing him if he did attack. He wasn't into the skritches, but he tolerated them. He was so tuckered out and no longer willing to fight. He climbed into our laps, he laid down next to our thighs, he allowed himself to be stroked, the little adorable guy. It breaks my heart, he has the cheekiest little smile and the most beautiful wide face and glossy eyes. He received pets and treats for another 45 minutes until we deemed him calm enough to go back into his cage, and BOY was he happy to go back. Not a single bite was given.
The blanket and my pyjamas were gory messes. It was a battlefield.
I'm scared of him and I love him. It is a heartbreaking combo.
Please help. This is not even close to the rainbows and hearts and snuggles I imagined about my first rat experience. I'm just so downhearted and sad.
They'd originally been given to the shelter because their previous owners claimed that Castielle had been the aggressor when fighting with Mimo, but apart from posturing and chasing and tussling, they'd end up in the same hammock over and over again.
These are our very first rats (both of us have had cats all of our lives, and I've had gerbils, mice and rabbits), and they live in the lap of ratty luxury (Critter Nation, homemade hammocks, a great view of Montreal, etc.). We did a lot of research before purchasing the supplies and adopting the rats, and I'm not sure I've ever looked forward to something as much as I looked forward to taking these little guys home with me. I counted every single hour.
And take them home I did, last Monday. The foster family hadn't cared for them well, and they were stinky, had diarrhea and were incredibly dirty, but they were bright-eyed, active and playful. I was slightly shocked at their state and desperate to give them a better home. After a couple of days eating Oxbow and plenty of fruits and veggies, they were SO much cleaner and smelled almost pleasant. Every night after work, we come home and let them play for hours on the bed.
Life was grand.
Until last night.
I reached into the boys' cage and gave Castielle a little skritch, which he appreciated as he settled in his hammock. I was going to do the same for Mimo before heading to bed, and I held my hand out to him. He came out of his hidey hole, sniffed, and CHOMP. A pinhole bite, leaking blood. Hurt, I closed the cage and went to wash my hand, figuring he'd just been surprised or I'd woken him up or invaded his space. He'd be fine in the morning. I checked on them in the middle of the night, and they were snuggled together in the hammock, fast asleep.
This morning, we woke up to give the boys their weekend morning playtime (we decided to give them extra playtime on weekends, since we're usually around). I skritched Castielle, which he enjoyed, and reached down to do the same to Mimo. He sauntered over to my hand, appearing quite casual and calm. He sniffed once, and then without warning, delivered a vicious, lightning bite, tearing a chunk out of my finger. Blood flew everywhere as I yanked my hand back. I couldn't even say "no", I just sat, staring at the crater with tears leaking out of my eyes. I sat for a minute or two with the door open, and Mimo methodically gathered all of the toys on the bottom level and threw them at me! Between throws, he rucked up the cage liner and foofed.
I told my husband about Mimo's strange behavior, thinking that maybe he decided not to like ME and wouldn't react the same with my husband. Wrong. Mimo would curiously come out of his hut, grab a drink of water on the way to his hand, and then viciously bite. Steven and I were both bleeding by this point. Something had to be done.
In the course of our research, we'd read RatDaddy's sticky post about immersion. It seemed that Mimo was asserting himself as the dominant rat, acting toward us like an alpha rat would toward a disobedient subordinate. We decided to try immersion.
We donned our winter gloves and took Mimo from the cage (Castielle, sleepy and uninterested, snoozed in the hammock). He puffed up and foofed at us furiously, chattering to beat the band. We set him gently in the play area on the bed and sat down ourselves. Immediately, we were in his face, challenging his aggression. At no point did he show any fear. At no point was he on the defensive. Whenever he encountered one of our hands, he would deliver a furious bite, foofing and posturing, and each time, we would gently swat him, saying "no, Mimo."
At two points, he bit me so unbelievably ferociously that his teeth pierced my leather glove and actually bit THROUGH my fingernail, cracking it from the tip to the quick. One of my knuckles is a 2cm black-purple bruise bordered by deep puncture wounds that refused to stop bleeding even after 30 minutes, and Steven isn't in any better shape. Everything I've ever read about rats indicated that such behavior is not normal, is pretty rare, and should not be tolerated. All I could do was sob to myself as I tried to teach him that he just could NOT behave that way and be our pet. I asked myself why I ever thought I could be a rat mommy, when it seemed that everybody had such loving boys and smart, active, affectionate girls. All of the information had convinced me that rats make some of the best, most intelligent, most affectionate pets ever. How had I so eagerly bought into this? What did I do wrong? What did I not do right?
For two hours we sat with him. He always came back biting, looking for more, and more he got - gentle swatting and firm "no"s. He foofed and puffed and complained and grunted. The weird thing about this entire altercation is the fact that he would continue to curiously explore us, even climbing onto our arms, laps and shoulders, sniffing our faces! But when he found a finger, CHOMP. I was terrified that we were ruining him, until I realized that there was no more to ruin. A vicious, biting rat is as low as you go. And slowly, he stopped biting, and then he stopped nipping. We timed him.
After 15 minutes of no biting or nipping, I took my glove off and offered him my hand. He sniffed it, and I skritched him on his neck, offering him treats, praising him for his gentleness and admonishing him if he did attack. He wasn't into the skritches, but he tolerated them. He was so tuckered out and no longer willing to fight. He climbed into our laps, he laid down next to our thighs, he allowed himself to be stroked, the little adorable guy. It breaks my heart, he has the cheekiest little smile and the most beautiful wide face and glossy eyes. He received pets and treats for another 45 minutes until we deemed him calm enough to go back into his cage, and BOY was he happy to go back. Not a single bite was given.
The blanket and my pyjamas were gory messes. It was a battlefield.
I'm scared of him and I love him. It is a heartbreaking combo.
Please help. This is not even close to the rainbows and hearts and snuggles I imagined about my first rat experience. I'm just so downhearted and sad.
