Tuesday night was the most stressful, worry-filled night I have had in a long time. You see, I had a rat named Guy. Two months ago, on what would be the saddest weekend in my recent history, a four-month-old Guy went from happy-hyper, to sluggish, to paralyzed, to dead in less than 24 hours. I cannot remember feeling so lost and helpless. I have been treating some of my rats for recurring abscesses. Other than Guy, none of them had any behavior changes or other symptoms. Their vet has had them on two different antibiotics with no effect.

Tuesday evening, Guy's brother Allen (at the right) started showing those identical symptoms of sluggishness, fever, quivering, and crying. My brain nearly shut down for panic. I was already mourning his inevitable death. I put him and his uncle at my bedside and had a sleepless night anticipating with certainty a paralyzed or dead Allen in the morning. Yesterday morning, my Allen was still alive, but he had deteriorated the same way as his brother. I called my vet and was further distressed to learn that he wasn't on duty that day. Internet searches for exotics vets followed. One wasn't opening for another hour. Another was four hours away (I was prepared to try that one, but with hours counting so much, I was hoping for something quicker). I called one within a 90 minutes drive away and found out they treated rats. They put me down for 11:00 and I left immediately. I got there 45 minutes early, and they saw Allen right away. The vet gave us yet another antibiotic. I left with both hope and trepidation. Two failed antibiotics and a sweet young fuzzball rapping on death's door reminded me that vets are not magicians.

I gave Allen (and the other abscess-sufferers) the new medicine immediately when I got home. Then I waited and I watched. I watched every movement -- and every non-movement. Last night, I gave Allen some rice, so he could eat without use of his failing paws. But then, after eating, he slowly waddled over to the water bottle and had a drink. Fifteen minutes later, he sat up. He ate a cookie. He cleaned himself. This morning, he is almost entirely back to normal, and he and Donnie will get to rejoin their friends in the big cage soon.

I can't remember the last time I felt such extreme joy as I do today -- especially after the crushing sorrow and distress of yesterday. Donnie and I are both happy our little Allen is still with us. (Although I still miss Guy very much.)