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

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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.
    For those who desire a more hands-on approach, taxidermy classes are fairly easy to find and not prohibitively expensive, for what you get. The Oddities and Curiosities class was $100, all tools (and rats) provided.
    Taxidermy art today is an ever-escalating quest to create something new, something innovative, something no one's ever seen before. But the aim isn't just to amuse or scandalize. It's about changing our perception of death - something that's a universal part of life.
    "There's something fascinating about us putting dead animals in clothes and teacups, and I just really think it started with storytelling," the Oddities class instructor Nina Lopez says. "We have all of these stories and fables of animals speaking our language and acting like people, and anthropomorphic taxidermy brings those stories to life."

    Nina Lopez of the Taxidermy Academy (second from right)
    Lopez is the owner of The Taxidermy Academy in Tulsa, Oklahoma. She's a member of a creative, risk-taking, passionate generation of taxidermy artists who use the genre to peel back the mystery of death and explore the possibilities underneath.  
    It may surprise you to know Lopez started her career as a butcher. Or, it may make total sense. 
    "I was eventually desensitized to the process of skinning and deboning and processing meat." she tells CNN. "I didn't think I would ever get used to it. I had really bad feelings about processing meat."
      As an animal lover and a former vegan, Lopez decided that, rather than pulling animals apart, maybe her skills were better suited to putting them back together again.
      With help from her mother, an art teacher, Lopez began learning more about the art and science of taxidermy. She now travels full-time with the Oddities and Curiosities Expo and offers other roving classes where students cobble together jackalopes, rabbits and, like the Atlanta class, little white rats.