Toughest. Job. Ever.

This one might just pull a heartstring or two.

For it was a few days ago when The Kid’s beloved rat Percy, or PercyMouse as he called her, slipped the surly bonds of Earth to touch the face of…GodRat. Yes, she was only an eight-dollar pet but she was his favorite in this house filled with four-legged creatures–and one really cool blue betta fish.

Ann called me at work to give me the bad news. I immediately Googled relevant terms such as “explaining passing of child’s pet” and whatnot. I gained some insight on what to say and why, and felt pretty prepared for what was waiting at home.

Boy, was I wrong.

It’s a situation like this when a man realizes how much of a man he really is. And if he thinks he can get through this without shedding a tear, he’s sorely mistaken.

When I got home he was watching SpongeBob (as usual). And although he was watching TV, hadn’t noticed Percy’s cage–we kept her on top of the entertainment center above the TV–was missing. So far, so good we thought. But then it happened.

He looked up at the vacancy, gasped and said, “Where’s PercyMouse?” And that’s when it began. I called him over to the couch.

“Anthony, PercyMouse was very sick. We took her to the vet and he said he couldn’t fix her.” He began to cry. I began to cry because it hurt me to see him so upset. Then Ann began to cry. It was quite the scene, really.

But you can’t sugarcoat stuff like this. Kids need to know the truth.

“Anthony, PercyMouse died. She’s not sick anymore and is running around with her new friends.” That’s about all I could get out.

He continued to cry. He ran to the door and called her name. He repeatedly told us he “wanted her back.” He kept looking back at where her cage once was. It got to a point where I almost couldn’t take it anymore but I had to set the example here. I continued to explain and he continued to cry. Holy shit on a deep-fried shingle, it was a ride I won’t soon forget. And you know what else? Nuts to what any Web site, any psychologist, or anybody else who thinks they even have an inkling as to what to tell a child about the passing of their pet. There’s simply no easy way to tell them–and no way to prepare for it.

But unexpected relief came in the middle of all of this. It was in the form of a firetruck and ambulance pulling up in front of our house to tend to the old man next door. We shifted gears and told him the firetrucks, which he loves, were outside the house and we should go look. He agreed.

Every kid in the neighborhood congregated on our lawn to see the action. They all played, including Anthony who was smiling and giggling as if everything we had just told him had never happened. And it was good to see.

We later went for our nightly walk when Anthony saw a homemade sign for a missing cat. He asked what the sign said.

“Someone’s kitty is missing and its owners are very sad. They put the signs up so in case anybody sees her, they can bring her back,” I explained.

“Oh, I need to make one for PercyMouse, too,” he spouted in a way only a three-year-old could. “Maybe someone will find her!” God dammit kid, you did it again.

“We’ll see, Anthony,” I replied.

“Okay, daddy,” he said. I took his hand and we continued walking to the schoolyard, where he played on the twisty slides and with his RC Hummer until the sun went down.