I was not expecting to lose Ash so soon.

Ash came to me in summer 2012 with her sisters, Hazel (whom I lost in February but was in no state to write about her) and Bramble (who feels frail and is chronically respy but bright-eyed and affectionate). They came to me because their owner had got bored of them and wanted a snake (of all things). Their breeder approved and they were introduced to Willow. They were actually a bit too boisterous for Willow and so she stayed with the babies (Fern and Meena) in my hospital/intro cage and the trio went into the main cage.

They were skinny with badly rusted coats when they came to me and I tried very hard to get them into decent condition. I think they all grew a bit - not just filled out, but actually became bigger all round. They were the first group I tried scatter feeding and I loved how it made them interact with their environment - rooting through the substrate, using their noses to plough through it, getting excited when they found something tasty. Ash was particularly fond of unshelled pumpkin seeds.

Ash was my big, beautiful, sleek girl. She was Russian Blue like Rowan, and like Ro, she became my PR rat. Because university is on the way to the vets, if I needed to take someone to the vets it was easier to take them in a carrier into the office and then go to vets rather than return home for them. I'd sometimes stick Ash on my shoulder if I needed to make myself tea or speak to someone. She rapidly acquired a fanclub to the extent that people would beckon me into their offices so they could fuss her - and, indeed, someone once stopped me in the corridor, looked disappointed when she noticed I didn't have Ash with me, asked after her then let me go on my way.

She had the biggest eyes of any rat I've kept. If I'd wanted to, I think she could have won shows. However, she also had a talent for pulling daft faces and as such, the photos I have of her all make her look a bit silly.

She liked being stroked firmly from head to tail, and would flatten herself and arch under my hand in obvious enjoyment. She and Fern squabbled but not in a serious way - if I heard squeaking and scuffling it was going to be those two.

She reached 30 months and didn't even look old until her final couple of days. It was pyometra - the only thing that could have saved her was an emergency spay and I wasn't going to put her through that. My mum looked after her in her final days and took her to the vet. She's buried in our garden.