Post by rasputin on Jul 3, 2004 1:58:33 GMT -4
Corum, the blind silver-haired gerbil, has left this world.
I saw Casper sleeping alone in a corner this morning, a few minutes before I had to leave for work. I gently scratched on the tank lid, and Casper stirred, but there was no sign of Corum.
I knew what I would discover when I took off the lid and searched through the three inches of bedding. Corum was under the water bottle, slightly cool to the touch and moist from the aspen packed around him. I could not determine a cause of death, but I cannot imagine anything being terrible enough to kill him.
He did have a wound in his flank, but it was unclear whether it had been inflicted before or after his passing -- there was no blood marked near him, so I assume it was after. I do not know whather Casper knows he is alone -- when I laid him on the bedding, Casper sniffed and licked at him expectantly.
The most painful thoughts I have had over this are,
"What if it was somehow my fault?"
"How do I comfort Casper?"
"What do I tell his mother?"
I feel like a hammer has hit me in the chest. All his personality was gone from him -- he was only a corpse, a dead thing, this morning, caught in a moment of biology, food still hanging from his mouth. He wasn't the timid friend I had raised by hand from birth. He wasn't on the cusp of his first year -- he was a slender, limp rodent body, fuzzy yet damp, a reminder of inevitable nature.
He is the first of his generation to go, and I am disturbed that he preceeded his parents.
I had time to wrap him up and leave him on my bed before I had to leave for a rotten day at work. He will be laid to rest in the wilds near my mother's condo -- I intend to leave him off the path under a simple rock cairn.
Goodbye, prince Corum. From you I learned much.
I saw Casper sleeping alone in a corner this morning, a few minutes before I had to leave for work. I gently scratched on the tank lid, and Casper stirred, but there was no sign of Corum.
I knew what I would discover when I took off the lid and searched through the three inches of bedding. Corum was under the water bottle, slightly cool to the touch and moist from the aspen packed around him. I could not determine a cause of death, but I cannot imagine anything being terrible enough to kill him.
He did have a wound in his flank, but it was unclear whether it had been inflicted before or after his passing -- there was no blood marked near him, so I assume it was after. I do not know whather Casper knows he is alone -- when I laid him on the bedding, Casper sniffed and licked at him expectantly.
The most painful thoughts I have had over this are,
"What if it was somehow my fault?"
"How do I comfort Casper?"
"What do I tell his mother?"
I feel like a hammer has hit me in the chest. All his personality was gone from him -- he was only a corpse, a dead thing, this morning, caught in a moment of biology, food still hanging from his mouth. He wasn't the timid friend I had raised by hand from birth. He wasn't on the cusp of his first year -- he was a slender, limp rodent body, fuzzy yet damp, a reminder of inevitable nature.
He is the first of his generation to go, and I am disturbed that he preceeded his parents.
I had time to wrap him up and leave him on my bed before I had to leave for a rotten day at work. He will be laid to rest in the wilds near my mother's condo -- I intend to leave him off the path under a simple rock cairn.
Goodbye, prince Corum. From you I learned much.
