Meet Sugarpie

Meet Sugarpie.

She's a rat.

Let me repeat that.

She's. A. Rat.

A rat that lives with us.

Let me repeat that.

A. Rat. That. Lives. With. Us.

I'm getting light headed and I need to lie down now.

I wrote a post a couple of weeks ago about the realization of living with a rat. You can read about it here. You will be happy to know that I no longer feel like throwing up at the mere thought of living with a rat.

Nope. I've matured and moved on since then.

Now I'm cool with living with a rat.

Sorta.

I'm still not thrilled with the idea, but what's done is done.

Guess what disturbing fact I've uncovered?

Sugarpie and I have very similar diets.

I know, right?

I never knew that I ate like a rat. I've been accused of eating like a bird, a horse, and a pig, but never a rat.

We both eat a lot of lettuce, carrots, fresh fruit, and oatmeal.

I prefer my oatmeal cooked, in a bowl, and with butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, and banana slices. Sugarpie prefers hers to be uncooked.

Obviously she hasn't tasted the finer things in life.

Like butter.

Still, I'd hate to think that cooked oatmeal is the only thing that separates me from a rat.

Well, that and a tail.

And pooping where I sleep.

And I'd prefer to not snuggle under an old sock with a hole in the heel, but under a nice soft blankie.

But I would like to nap about twenty hours a day.

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