Steve Fox
IUPUI
“Reflection: The Rats of HWP 2011”
I feel sorry for the rats.
They were delivered to our laboratory, a state of the art facility in a building euphemistically
called the “Integrated Technologies Building,” on Monday, June 6, 2011. They were quiet and
docile at first, but we fed them a high-energy diet (lots of caffeine, sugar, and cheese), and soon
they were running around the lab, whiskers twitching, exploring the tunnels and bridges we had
provided (these new cages are called “wikis”). They sniffed each other and soon grew
accustomed to this new little family they belonged to.
This particular batch seemed especially interested in paper, paper of all sizes, textures, and
colors: index cards were a special favorite, but they also chewed on lined notebook paper,
construction paper, post-it notes, and large sheets of white paper. They even liked our books;
perhaps it was just another source of paper to shred, but maybe the ink gives them a small high.
Yes, I forgot to say that they also craved ink.
It’s top secret for now, but we have trained these rats to type out messages on laptop computers.
Other scientists think that only the higher primates are capable of being taught such uses of
language, but we have been startled by the rats’ ability to communicate their needs and feelings
(such feelings as simple mammals are capable of). The implications of this discovery for
national security and even business espionage have yet to be explored. (Apparently our
advanced rats in the lab next door made extraordinary strides, but we have not heard the full
report yet, and that group mysteriously vanished last Friday. No doubt they were taken to a more
secure location.)
I must confess to a weakness: I have grown fond of these rats. I am losing the detachment
required of a scientist. But having observed these creatures for seven hours a day, I cannot help
but notice their distinct personalities. I have even given them names! (I must not let my
superiors read this journal. They would lose all confidence in me. Inspector General Bennett
especially would be disturbed by my sentimentality.)
It will sound ridiculous, I realize, but I recognized some of these rats from prior experiments.
Their habits, appearance, and expressions are that distinct. Jay, Marie, and Joe were part of a
year-long study to see if rats from different sub-species, formerly seen to be at best indifferent,
more often hostile to each other, could learn to cooperate. By the end of that study, those rats
were indeed helping each other build nests, construct elaborate bridges, and figure out complex
mazes to get at their prized snacks. That cooperation has carried over to the current study. In
fact, I theorize that Jay, Marie, and Joe taught this new group of rats they were introduced to, for
I have never seen such an industrious, social group of rodents as this summer group. One would
think they were ants or bees!
Let me record a few of their distinct personality traits and behaviors. Marie is a nurturing
creature, showing the other rats how to find the dark brown energy water they crave. The rats
take turns feeding each other—yes, you who think only human beings have communal,
celebratory meals should see these rats take simple foods we provide them and make unusual
concoctions that their fellow rodents gobble appreciatively. Marie was the first to do this kind of
rudimentary cooking, no doubt having learned during her year of cross-species interaction. Of
course, I am using anthropomorphic language that my fellow scientists would disapprove of.
No one who dismisses rats as pestiferous, simple-minded creatures would believe the kinds of
advanced cooperative behavior I have seen. One day, Nancy, Karen, and Crystal worked
diligently with their little paws to construct a dozen piles of little books, which the other rats
scurried around and climbed over in what I could have sworn were fits of ecstasy. Another
morning, Jay and Jeff #1 seemed to be soothing the other rats with some sort of primitive
singing—and we thought only birds could sing! Amazed at what these rats could do, I
surreptitiously put some tiny bits of charcoal in their cage: sure enough, Daniel was curious
about these ebony pieces. Then one day I found some pieces of paper near Daniel’s nest covered
with elaborate black marks. I dare not assume too much, but I can assure you that the paper had
been blank.
Some of these rats are quite mischievous, even whimsical. Mike has an especially humorous
disposition—all right, dear reader, you are surely suspecting me of work-induced hallucinations
and delusions. But if Mike was a boy on a playground, you would say he was a ringleader and a
prankster for sure. But no doubt I was simply witnessing instinctual behaviors and read too
much into it. That’s what I will say if I am ever questioned by my superiors.
These rats are upset when humans move the objects in their cage. We provide our rats with
spinning wheel toys. Yes, the kind you have seen in hamster cages: rats love them as well,
running in them until they are a blur of motion, though of course they never get anywhere. The
exercise does them good, I suppose. Well, one day Heather’s wheel had been removed by one of
the lab assistants, taken away for cleaning perhaps. Heather was terribly disturbed when she
could not find her wheel, running around in circles until the assistant placed it back in the cage.
Amanda and Shari, two of the youngest rats, were alternately shy and lively, as delightful as
kittens or puppies, and the older rats seemed quite protective of them and also delighted by their
antics. And just as in human communities, these rats seemed to show deference to their elders,
Steve and Mary, though even these older rats, veterans of many prior studies, could frolic and
caper with the rest. That energy water and certain of the high-protein food pellets may account
for this fountain-of-youth effect. Mary, by the way, guarded a particular piece of paper: a map of
Indiana. Just a weird coincidence, surely.
Tiffani and Jeff #2 are orderly, careful rats who keep the group from becoming too unruly: they
demonstrate a deep, quiet intelligence that I can see in their eyes. It has often startled me to
come to myself after what seems like an hour of looking at them, realizing that I am watching
not a highly advanced ancient culture of humans, but a group of rats! Carla also has that orderly
intelligence, but she demonstrated another side of her character one day, bravely resisting a
bullying rat that had accidentally been let into this cage from the outside.
Oh, and there is the dark bluish-colored rat, Ernestina. Yes, blue! She is a startlingly beautiful
rat, imported from another continent. We not only wanted to see if rats of different species could
get along, but also if rats from faraway places, whose environmental and hereditary influences
were vastly different, would intermingle easily with these domestic rats. Oh, that Ernestina had
all the other rats drinking milk from her bowl, and her squeaks, tonally somewhat different from
the domestic rats, seemed to have a special appeal to the group. She bears watching.
I must put this journal away now, and hope that someday the world will be ready for its
revelations. I dare not show it to anyone, certainly not to any of my fellow scientists, and not
even to my wife. She might believe me, dear soul, but I would not endanger her life by having
her share knowledge of my heresies. The authorities might torture a confession out of her. In
fact, given the way people view rats, and the unquestioning deference they show for scientific
orthodoxy, I should not expect a sympathetic reader in my lifetime. I may have to burn this
journal. It reminds me of a story I read in my youth, “Flowers for Algernon.” I don’t remember
all the details, but I vaguely recall it didn’t turn out well for the rat or the man.
Silver
You stand there in your book-lined office, in your rumpled dark-gray suit, hands speaking as
eloquently as your words.
The somber oak walls and bookcases cannot smother your quicksilver passion.
That passion flushes your ruddy Swedish complexion.
Like an ancient prophet, you proclaim divine justice.
You condemn the violence of the oppressors—and, like a shepherd-prophet, gentle with your
flock, you remind us that God loves the poor.
We students knew you loved us.
We loved you, and wanted to learn from you.
I was flattered to be your grader.
Your mind raced like a swift panther.
You also moved like a beautiful black bear, larger than life, yet graceful and quiet.
In you we found incarnated courage, compassion, and clairvoyance.
My memories of you are fragrant wood smoke in autumn, orange flames dancing against the sky.
Your influence is an underground river running through my mind and soul.
How powerfully you showed me how to be a professor, teacher, scholar, activist, and mentor.
May your spirit shimmer through mine, like silver threads in the cloak that covers my being.
In memory of John Jonsson, 1925-2011