Clay pigeons are fuckers

When my bunny Bunny died, I was absolutely wrecked. I cried for days. I had only had her for a little over a week, but I had grown fiercely attached to her. While she was predominantly mine, I saw her as belonging to both me AND Dan. She was Ours, and that meant everything to me. Dan and I didn't really have anything together. We pretty much lived separate lives in his world, if that makes any sense. So when he got me Bunny, I didn't just love her as a pet, I loved her as a symbol. She died just a few days before Dan went off to Afghanistan, and I had been counting on having her to make Dan being gone easier. Her death didn't go smoothly for me.

I suppose that's as good an introduction to this as any, really. I get very attached to my pets. Mostly because I believe my pets love me, and I love them. Love doesn't come easily for me, and I'm not very good at it with people. I always fuck it up somehow, by virtue of being myself. I'm a bit of a fuck up. And you know, my pets don't care. I have a cat named Galouli, and I've had her for almost ten years. I love her dearly. She greets me with purrs and meows and rubs when I come home, and she sleeps with me at night, generally right on my stomach where it's the most uncomfortable. But my guts don't care, and neither do I. I love her company, and she loves mine. Allen has a cat named Spectre, and Spectre has become more my cat in the last couple of years than his. He's still her person of preference, but she sleeps with me now. Right at my head, curled up under my chin or somewhere that is also deeply uncomfortable. I love my kitties. I spoil them as often as I can, and I talk to them because I'm single and crazy, and my god, do I love stereotypes.

I also had six rats.

I started out with Brisby. I bought him a month or two into Dan's deployment, and I loved him HARD. Brisby and I seriously did everything together. I would open his cage, and he would come up to my shoulder, curl up in my hoodie, and hang out with me as I cleaned the house, or watched TV, or sometimes, when I took walks. He would run across my shoulders, chitter in my ear, run back into my hoodie, and I loved him. I spoiled him rotten, too. I gave him fruits and veggies and popcorn as treats, and we were great pals. When he looked lonely, I got him Andes. And Andes was just as good a pal, but not nearly as favored as Brizz. After Andes came Charlie and Figaro, and then Spike and Templeton. My rats have a huge house, with three stories, and all kinds of goodies. I spoil them just as hard as I spoil my cats.

A few months ago, I went to let my boys out for the afternoon, and Brizz didn't run up onto my shoulder. He stayed in his corner. I knew something was wrong, so I picked him up, closed the cage, and sat with my big fat Brizz. He was normally incredibly active, but this time, he just laid with me. I knew he was going to die, and I was a mess. I wept for hours while I cuddled and loved on my rat. Eventually, I put him in a box with one of my shirts, put the box next to me, and I sang to my rat until he died. I cried and cried and cried, and I cried off and on for about a week.

After that, I bonded with Andes. He became my new buddy, and while he didn't replace my Brizz, he certainly buddied up with me. His favorite thing to do was bother the cats, and then come lay under my chin after he got worn out from all of the bothering.

I lost Figaro next. Figaro died while I was busy in a hospital with a broken arm. Allen didn't notice.

My other boys have been perfectly healthy, until two weeks ago. I noticed that Andes was becoming sluggish, and not nearly as interested in being a hilariously small cat bully.

Rats don't live very long, maybe three years. Five, if you're really lucky and buy from a solid breeder. But that's a stretch, no matter how well you take care of them.

Andes is my handsome old boy, and he's been deteriorating over the last two days.

I didn't have any pictures of me and Brizz when he was healthy and happy. I have a picture of him in my arms the day he died, and I keep it on my phone. I still miss him a great deal, so I look at it from time to time. It's the same with Andes. I have one picture of him on my shoulder, hiding in my hair.

I spent most of the night with Andes after I got out of class. I took a picture of us on the couch. Don't mind my face, it's puffy and red because I've been crying all night with my favorite boy.

He's been quietly letting me love on him all night, and I've been crying into his fur and snuggling him as gently as I can. I don't think he's going to be alive in the morning, and it breaks my heart that I can't stay up with him all night and be with him when he dies, if my hunch is correct.

I'm sure this seems silly. He's just a rat, after all.

But he's mine, and I love him, and he's never been just a rat to me. He's my furry little guy, and he's been a source of great comfort for me. It's almost time for my tawny old man to die, and I am going to miss him immeasurably.

Like I said, my love for people doesn't come often or easily, and when it comes, it stays forever. The only difference with my love of my animals is how instantaneous it is. The second I have an animal and it's my critter, I love it. And I love it forever.

I still miss Bunny. I still miss Brisby. And I am devastated over the looming loss of Andes. I'm having a drink and crying while I write this. I set Andes up a comfortable box nest in his house. Charlie and Bullet have been sitting by it since I put it in the house. Cal me crazy, but I think animals are just as compassionate and aware as people are. Andes is their family, and they're going to be as sad as I am when he goes.

Well. There it is.

I'm going to go drunkenly cry on my couch, and hopefully I get some sleep tonight.