Fenton
August 9, 2013
Like his brother, Fenton is a Fancy Rat. He was named for this video, a video that I have watched dozens of times and that still makes me laugh until I cry. Fenton and Oliver are blood brothers. They are also brothers in the way that they are both my children. They are not brothers like two dudes who have lived in a fraternity house together. I would say “frat”, but I know frat dudes get all bent out of shape about the shortening of that word.
Like many siblings, Fenton and Oliver share an untouchable and unbreakable bond, but they are veritable opposites in almost every way, except their love of cooked pasta and parrot biscuits. Fenton is reclusive, a sensitive and moody type who frequently writes poetry and laments the shortcomings of American culture.
He has an irrational fear of the apocalypse, though he vacillates in what he believes will be the ultimate cause. When he’s drinking bourbon and working on his memoirs, he’s certain that the demise of the the world as we know it will be brought about by a crash of modern technology which will somehow be precipitated by some escalation of idiocy. Chaos will ensue, as humans have lost their ability to survive without being perpetually plugged in. His disdain for this aspect of our culture is especially apparent when he is hunched over his analog typewriter, pounding passionately at the keys, murmuring audibly about the unfortunate state of affairs of today. When they can no longer ask Google or Jeeves how to do even basic tasks, humans will simply fall apart, turn on each other, and implode. Ask Fenton about the end of the world when he’s drinking microbrews with his friends, though, and he’ll swear it’ll be zombies that take us out. While he has little to worry about in the event that we see the End of Days in our lifetime given that he’s a rat, he prepares diligently just the same, particularly by hoarding food (usually whatever he can steal from the dog when she isn’t looking):
While he is persnickety and temperamental, he is also an absolute Mama’s boy and lives to cuddle. I did say lives. I did not mean loves, as anyone who has ever suffered the effects of auto-correct might have assumed.