For the past week, I’ve been working out on an island in southwest Florida. It’s gorgeous, it’s amazing, it has a ton of animals. The island is filled with swampy-type critters and sanctuaries for said critters. And we’ve met a few new… friends.
Our lovely director has a kind heart, and when she was coming into the theatre, she found a tiny critter in destress. Naturally, we had to help this rat. Yep: rat. It was a cute rat, mind you. Walking shakily in circles, not really noticing all of us creeping closer to it. The poor little dude was eating a rock. A rat eating a rock. Naturally, we named him Rocky.
Our young, but incredibly apt, Stage Manager called the island’s animal rescue folks, and they said to load poor Rocky into a box and drive him over.
I wish I could say I was one of the ones putting the disoriented rat into the box, but really I just ran and found a box.
We cheered the SM as he drove away. The animal control people told us to call the next day for an update. The SM called the next day… Rocky had passed away. We’re not sure how natural the causes were. They think he had been hit by a car, and that’s why he was missing an eye and had a taste for rocks.
It was a sad day, but at least Rocky didn’t spend his last days starving in a bush out front… trying to get food from a stone.
We thought our wildlife adventures were over. But how very wrong we were.
To be continued with the tale of the slippery snake.