My guinea pig died today. I never really liked it. But the weird part is, I cried. More than five times. We always had this whole I-hate-you-you-hate-me thing going on, but I miss it. I know, I'm rambling over a rodent, but.. I don't know. I always leave my room expecting to hear her knawing on her water dispenser or scurrying around her cage but I don't, and.. I don't like it..
My brain's automatically putting those sounds around the house now. She would sit there squeeking forever and it was weirdly comforting, as annoying as it was.
I can't help but feel guilty, too. We were never really home to regularily do things for her and it was Cory's pet, so when I was home, I expected her to do it, but she never did. I feel bad because I can't imagine the pains he must have been in in the last bit of her life..
I'm crying again. I know it's retarded, crying over a rodent and writing in your blog about it but.. it kills me.
A lot.
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