Mathilda is my favorite pet rat.  She's white with a fawn head, dark brown eyes, very pretty.  She's also smart as a whip and has me trained quite well.  Woof!  Woof!

Example:

If she's on my shoulder and I'm leaning forward, and she wants to scoot down my front to my lap, she tugs gently on my shirt.  She's definitely trying to communicate with me — there's a distinct difference between their usual chewing and her gentle tugging.  I lean back and she scoots down.  If I'm again leaning forward and she wants to scoot back up, she again tugs gently at my shirt and I obligingly lean back.  Woof!  Woof!

She's also quite devoted.  What happened today at lunch serves as a good example.

The living room and dining area are about 25 feet wide.  Across the back wall are four sets of bookshelves.  Below them, to the left, are a bunch of large cardboard storage boxes.  To their right is a long table with a computer on it.  To its right is the easy chair with the foot rest extended, parallel with the wall.  Last, on the far right-hand side, is the breakfast table.

I saunter downstairs to eat lunch, bringing Matty with me.  Usually, I let her clamber around the bookshelf above the table, feeding her small pieces of potato chip which she just adores.  This time, though, I thought I'd set her on the cardboard boxes to do some exploring, just for something different.  I set her down, walk the length of the room, sit down at the table and begin to eat.

While I'm eating, Mathilda:

• climbs over two large cardboard boxes
• walks along the first bookshelf
• climbs down onto another cardboard box
• makes a tremendous leap up to a real tall cardboard box
• climbs onto the second bookshelf
• barely makes it past the fake flower ornament thingy
• climbs down onto a stack of computer stuff
• navigates the length of the computer table
• climbs up another stack of computer stuff
• leaps up onto the monitor
• jumps over to the third bookshelf
• barely squeezes over the flat stack of books
• leaps onto the back of the easy chair
• fights her way down the back of the chair to the seat
• eyes with fear the thin 1/4" iron railings leading out to the foot rest
• finally makes the mad tightrope dash to the foot rest
• leaps the final four inches to my left knee
• walks up my leg and jumps up onto the table
• looks up at me expectantly as if to say…

"Hey, where's my potato chip?!"

And that, friends, is devotion.