Snitch was what the creatures of the Vermin Realm called a ‘problem rat’.  The problem with Snitch was that, unlike most, she didn’t have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other.  She had two devils.  Big ones. 

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Stitch

 

I first encountered Stitch in a pet shop in Plymouth.  It was the same petshop where, a few months previously, I had bought Smurf and her sister Bronte – not the nicest, cleanest pet shop in the world by far, but I didn’t know better back then.  Stitch was living in an innappropriately small glass tank with some younger females who were clearly unrelated to her.  Although she was still a baby herself, she seemed disproportionately large in comparison to the little eepers, and had moved herself to the far side of the tank where she had curled up in a ball to sleep by herself.  I was enchanted by the little rat.  Her fur was so black, her nose, feet and tail so pink, her belly was so fat – she looked for all the world like a little mole.  My mum and younger sister were with me at the time, buying a rabbit for themselves.  I couldn’t buy another rat, could I?  I already had two. 

 I think I managed to restrain myself for another week before going back to get her.  Si had only just moved in to my flat at that point, so I can’t remember if I asked his permission before I bought her.  Certainly I’ve rarely asked his permission in the seven years since.  My mum and sister weren’t in the least bit surprised that I had bought her – they phoned me up one day and simply asked, “So, what have you called the new rat?”  “How did you know?!” I gasped.  My mum laughed.  “We knew you’d get her,” she said.

Of course I was going to get her – I was only human.   I had taken one look at that fat little belly and fallen in love.  The only problem was, I expected her to be a sweet and innocent as she looked.  She wasn’t.  Her character was much bigger than that!

She wasn’t called Stitch straight away.  For a day or two we tried the name ‘Mole’ out on her, because that was what she had reminded me of when I’d first seen her.  It didn’t suit.  The name Stitch suggested herself the evening we moved her into Smurf and Bronte’s cage when, refusing to let go of the bars, she scuttled upside-down across the underside of the cage ceiling, like Stitch does in ‘Lilo & Stitch”.  In effect, she had named herself.  In my rat-keeping time, I have had many rats who were a bit mischeivious.  Piglet, Gumby, Dobby, Cobway, Berg - they were a little bit naughty.  Riff – he was a LOT naughty.  But Stitch was in a league of her own.  She wasn’t just naughty, she was cunning, clever and sly.  She was our little evil genius.  In the evening’s she would sit on the top shelf of her cage, her paws folded in front of her, watching us and plotting.  There was a sharp glint in her eye that betrayed a superior mind at work.  She clearly wanted to take over the world.

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