Nell by Nancy Thayer

across the kitchen to the phone on the wall and dialed Marilyn’s home number.
    “Marilyn,” she said. “I’m sorry to call you at home. But this poor rat is having convulsions . What can I do? The children will be awake any moment now. Can I bring it into the clinic? Will you please meet me at the clinic and give it a shot to put it to sleep?”
    “Nell, don’t be silly,” Marilyn said. Marilyn lived on a farm; not only was she a vet, but she lived among all sorts of animals. “You don’t want to spend the money to have a rat put to sleep. Just reach in and break the poor creature’s neck.”
    “Aaaaargh,” Nell said. “Marilyn, I can’t do that. I can’t. I cannot put my hands around a convulsing rat’s neck and break it.”
    “You’d be surprised,” Marilyn said. “It will snap quite easily—”
    “Stop it!” Nell yelled. “Marilyn, this is awful! Help me.”
    “Look,” Marilyn said, her voice soothing. “Here’s what you can do. And it won’t cost you a thing. Do you have a gas oven? Put the rat in the oven, turn the gas on, and gas it to death.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding,” Nell said. “That’s disgusting, Marilyn. I can’t believe you’re saying this. Do you think I could ever cook a roast in my oven after gassing a rat in it? Jesus. You’re weird. Besides, thank heavens, I have an electric oven.”
    “Nell,” Marilyn said. “Remember we are talking about a rat . Why don’t you just take a hammer and hit it on the head?”
    Nell retched. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the rat’s scrawny leg spasming. She began to cry. “Marilyn, please ,” she said. “This is making me sick. ButI’m just not capable of doing that to anything, not even a rat. I want it put to sleep peacefully.”
    Marilyn sighed. “I’ve got an idea,” she said. “Why don’t you put it in a paper sack, a lunch bag, for example, and attach it to the muffler of your car with a rubber band. Then run your car for a while and the carbon monoxide is bound to put it to sleep quite nicely.”
    “You want me to sit in front of my house with a rat in a sack attached to my muffler?” Nell said. “What will the neighbors think? What will the kids think? Marilyn, please meet me at the clinic and give the rat a shot!”
    “Well, all right,” Marilyn said. “But you know I’ll have to charge you. Dr. Hebers is getting very sticky about what I do for friends.”
    “Charge me a million dollars, but put this poor damn rat out of its misery!” Nell cried.
    She got the children up and dressed, carried the cage with the rat in it to the car, and drove it to the vet’s. She had secret hopes that the poor animal would die on the way and save her the fee, but she was not to be so lucky. It was still convulsing when she carried it into the animal hospital. Marilyn took the rat—Nell and the children agreed they did not want to keep the cage or watch her give the shot—and went into the back room. Nell drove home in a funk. She got the children off to school, then went to their rooms and stripped the sheets and washed them in hot water. When she got home from work, she spent two hours washing every surface in the children’s rooms with hot water and Lysol disinfectant. Still she felt queasy. And she did not know what she would say to Clary about the rats. She didn’t want this new, fragile connection among them all to be broken. She was sick at heart.
    Three nights later, Clary called.
    “Clary!” Nell said. “Give me your new phone number before you say another word. I’ve been going crazy, unable to reach you.”
    Clary gave her the number, then said, “How are the rats?”
    “Oh, Clary,” Nell said. “I have bad news.”
    “I was afraid of that,” Clary said.
    “What?” Nell asked, nearly shrieking. “You were ? Why ?” It turned out that allthe rats who had been born at a certain time in the lab at Rutgers had been exposed to a virus, and all the baby rats had eventually died of