On Thursday night we let the ratties out for their evening run. Toby, the more adventurous of the two (Billy is a woos and spends his "running" time hiding under the couch) discovered a hole under the stove. Down he went, under the house, and didn't return. Eventually we had to go to bed, and just left a macadamia nut under the stove to entice him back. It worked! He came trotting out holding it proudly like a basketball. So, all was well until last night, when we noticed that one of his back feet was lacerated, perhaps crushed (sob) and had blown up hugely. There's redness and pus and it's not pretty. Off to the emergency vet, a delightful young woman who told us she loves rats and said "Right, Mr Piggy, we'll have to confiscate that" when he licked the lubricant off the thermometer that had been taking his temperature you-know-where. So, $145 later and armed with a bottle of antibiotics, and under strict instructions that he is to rest(!) here we are trying to get his infection down so he won't lose the foot. "What if we just amputated the foot now?" I asked, but no, the philosophy with animals, as with people, seems to be save it if you can.