We taxidermied a rat. All it takes is a little imagination ... and a lot of Borax

Updated 5:55 AM ET, Sat February 8, 2020

The first step in taxidermying a rat, you learn, is to warm its cold little body with your hands. It arrives frozen, and the combination of textures and temperatures — the silken fur, the firm sack of rapidly thawing innards below, is deeply unfamiliar to a taxidermy novice. 

The way the animal's hide separates neatly from its body is as satisfying as peeling off a stubborn price tag label in one go. The degloving of the tail, not unlike pulling a shrimp clean out of its shell. 
But before these little revelations can emerge, your subject has to thaw. 
And so, a dozen or so eager students sit in a curtained-off section on first floor of the Atlanta Convention Center, dead rats carefully cradled between their gloved palms. 
Around us, the Oddities and Curiosities Expo carries on. It's a traveling circus of bones and piercings; bloated animal corpses floating in formaldehyde, butterflies pinned to velvet cushions under elegant cloches and stuffed beavers perched jauntily in tiny canoes. 
Flyers for the event promise tattoo booths and live human suspension demonstrations, but the real stars of the afternoon aren't human, and they definitely aren't living. 

There is an unquestionable sense of whimsy that permeates the world of modern taxidermy art. Readymade taxidermy pieces abound on Etsy, where dessicated toads and mice dressed as popes can be yours for a reasonable price, plus shipping.
In popular culture, taxidermy is leveraged as a symbol of the strange, the grieving, the uncommon and the unorthodox. In the acclaimed 2019 bestseller "Mostly Dead Things" by Kristin Arnett, a woman processes the death of her father through the art. In 2010's "Dinner for Schmucks," Steve Carell's character builds dioramas out of dead mice, signaling in equal measure his oddness and his sensitivity.