Recognize this boy?
You might have seen him in a post from a lost-and-found pet group last year. It was late September, around 4 a.m. in Surrey, when a kind man waiting for the bus noticed a little white rat sniffing at his shoe. Finding it unusual, he snapped a quick photo and shared it with a friend.
Maybe you know him from VRC, where he’s become a familiar face—one that’s healed and bounced back from horrific injuries sustained while surviving outdoors.
(Domestic rats simply can’t thrive outside. Without human care and supervision, each day is a struggle. Many aren’t fortunate enough to be found by volunteers willing to search at all hours, in all weather, determined to bring them to safety.)
You might've even helped us come up with his name:
Lucky — for his strength and brave decision to ask for help.
Joe — after the kind stranger who stopped and cared enough to take his photo.
Milton — in memory of Millie, a gentle little PEW found at Mill Lake in Abbotsford a few years ago.
There’s a chance you recognize him because he used to be your boy.
Whatever the circumstances that led to Milton being outside, we want his previous people to know:
He is safe.
He is so, so loved.
He is the fiercest little fighter we’ve ever met.
Milton was exhausted when we found him; smelled of infection with maggots in his wounds. But after just a few days of rest, warm meals, and good medicine, this tiny warrior said, “nevermind,” waddling away from death's door and right back to life.
It hasn’t been easy. He’s wildly enthusiastic, stubborn, and terrible at interpreting social cues from other rats. He’s awkward, he can’t read a room—but he tries. He really tries. His health has been a rollercoaster from the start; with unexplained allergic reactions and lumps that appear and vanish with no apparent rhyme or reason. Most recently, we’ve been treating swelling around his neck. An FNA confirmed lymphatic hyperplasia. We’ve had back-to-back hospital visits, asked endless questions, and leaned heavily on our patient and compassionate vet teams—whom we’re endlessly grateful for.
We don’t regret a single moment. We’d drive out to that bus stop after midnight again and again if that’s what it took.
Tomorrow morning, Milton is scheduled for surgery. It’s a complex and high-risk procedure, but the mass hasn’t responded to anti-inflammatories, antibiotics, or steroid injections. Surgery is our last option—our chance for more time.
So whether you’ve known this little man for a while, or you’re meeting him today, please send him a kind thought. Cross your fingers, knock on wood, say a little something to the universe.
We’ll be thinking of you, Lucky Joe Milton.
