Ted the Rat

My rat died today.  I found him in the toilet.  There wasn’t any pee or doody in it, just Ted, slumped over and bloated.  Yeah, his name was Ted, though I’m not sure if he was a he.  I liked him, I liked him a whole lot.  We got along well.  Sometimes we’d eat shelled nuts together, usually when I had the game on.  He liked to play in my backpack.  I’ve saved almost all of his droppings.  They’re for a future art project, but I still don’t know how I’d make them into art.  My mom and most of my friends didn’t know I had Ted, but I did.  Let me ask you something.  Have you ever known what it’s like to love someone so ardently that being without that individual in your life is excruciating torment, as if your heart had been ripped out of its socket?  Ted was not like that, but I’d still consider him the best friend I’ve ever had.  When it came to either my girlfriend or Ted, I chose Ted.  That was five months ago.  I’m going to call her up.  It’s been a while.  She’ll be happy that Ted’s dead.  I’m not.