“Enough,” I said and poured the glass of vinegar

“Enough,” I said and poured the glass of vinegar. I measured out the baking soda into the plastic bag, readied the vinyl hose and the little chamber. I held you and stroked your back and the bulging tumor, near large as your belly, and the little nest of deadly nobules in your gut. You were gentle as always, a little slow, you backbone ridged under my finger. You’ve grown so thin, and when you didn’t come with the others, I knew.

What of it? A three-dollar life—that’s all you are, no matter how I call you pet. Is there a difference between good rats and bad rats? You’ve never drawn human blood, never even pinched me. You’ve come to my voice and greeted me with great excitement whenever I digned to notice you. You’ve spent all your days my plaything, my pastime and made do with whatever I gave you. You were gentle with your cagemates, never pulled them bald or made them bleed. What more can a rat do to be good? What more could you have given?

You deserved a clean cage and regular food, ready water. And now…three tablespoons of baking soda and two cups of vinegar. And my tears, though you did not know to ask.