The television posted old photographs of the prison riot in Attica during the early fall of 1971. It was a documentery on the inmates struggle to be treated like men and not caged animals. I did not believe in caging my cream coloured rat. She was too full of energy to be held in a confined spot. At night time when I would get home I would lay down on my air matress and let her roam around until my eyelids started to drop. It was inevitable that I was going to fall asleep and I did not want her to disapper from my life. Everyday events took a turn for the worst today. She wasn't the same. Instead of leaping on the bed and sniffing foriegn scents that fill the air she moved around slowly. Most of the time she would urinate on me just a little. It was a bit of bother but she was just marking her territory. I was her's. I carefully picked her up and in a soft voice asked what was wrong. Placing her on my chest I expected her to explore around again but she didn't. She cleaned herself one last time. Grooming for her funeral and then snuggled up to my chin. I was startled when she squeaked and jerked. I picked up her lifeless body not wanting to believe that my friend was gone. Her small pink eyes grew dark as her soul left the tiny, fragil body. I had a small funeral for her and said a prayer. My roommate snapped digital images of me. Afterwards I picked up my guitar and played Stand By Me as flawless as I could. That song has a new meaning in my life. It will always remind me of my petite but wonderful friend.