My Overactive Imagination is Why I Don't Need to Have Kids

Well, shit. Belay most of my doom and gloom rat talk. There's still a slight chance that something more serious may be wrong with him, but according to vet type people, all signs point to a bad combination of stress, not eating, cold houses, and possibly being irritated by allergens and/or dust from changing out his cage, which in turn led to him stressing and not eating at all and getting sluggish and shaky.

Which spiralled further into suckitude when we hauled him to the vet and his already empty gas tank couldn't deal with the added stress, so he basically shut down and went into shock.

Opposite of props to the emergency clinic, for not immediately forcing some fluids and nutrition into him. Way to almost kill our otherwise apparently okay rat. Too bad he's a stubborn little mofo and hung around long enough for ScurvyWife and I to finally try squeezing some food in him, as a last ditch effort

And just to ensure that Felicia never, ever reads my blog again, here are some pictures of Sherman. Only thing worse than useless baby pictures on a poker blog are pictures of a damn rat on a poker blog: