Considering that he’d been on a hunger strike for seven months, it was strangely anticlimactic when he finally ate.
I almost forgot to try to feed him, so hopeless did I feel that anything would entice him after so long. I’d tried all sizes of rats and even small quails - everything but live gerbils. For months, every time I offered something, he seemed interested, about to strike. He’d sniff with his quick tongue, pause… then turn around disdainfully and slither back under a rock. I’d had so many conversations with the helpful staff at the reptile store and the exotics vet - and hours of Google searches (“how to get a ball python to eat”). No dice.
But because it was Wednesday, the day I’d decided was “food day” for Patrick, I was going to try again. I had thawed the rat in the fridge that morning, so it would be fresh. It was in a glass container, to make sure it didn’t smell plastic-y. Having made the mistake before of warming the frozen rat too quickly (too-hot water just cooks the insides), I set it up just so - water not too hot, not too cold. I let it sit a good eight minutes, exchanged the water for some warmer water, then let it sit another six minutes. I was set, the fuzzy rat was ready, maybe this was the night.
Though really I was not optimistic that this Wednesday would be any different than the dozens of Wednesdays before.
And in fact Patrick did not look particularly eager when he emerged from his hide at dusk - prime reptile feeding time. He looked… tired, stretched out on the ground, not curled up on a rock and ready to strike like last summer - before he just stopped eating for no apparent reason.
His tongue flicked out - once, twice, three times - as I dangled the warm fuzzy rat for him to get a good whiff, wiggling it to imitate something alive (not that he’s ever seen or smelled a live rodent).
I turned away, and he struck so quickly I almost missed it. He wrapped himself around his prey like a pretzel, like he’d been eating all along. Like it was nothing special.
And just like that, months of worry and self-doubt disappeared. So strange how tonight’s success had started out just like months of failures. I didn't think for a moment that it was because I’d taken him to the emergency vet just a week before. Or because the temperature was just right this week. Or the fuzzy rat was any different than the other rats and quails I’d tried.
As it turns out, I’d be doing everything right. He just wasn't ready. He had to do things on his own time.
I left him alone to digest, holding my delight inside like a happy secret until I was downstairs. I yelped “He ate! He ate!” into the kitchen. My daughter, making her lunch for the next day at camp, nodded. She hadn’t been worried for a minute, all those months he hadn’t eaten.
She knows her pets. She knows all about doing things on her own time. I clearly still have yet to learn that kind of patient wisdom. It's funny how the parent/child tables turn.
