cabbitzilla

She turned 7 in September... tonight she crossed the Rainbow Bridge to join Oliver Pigglesworth III (Ollie), Kweepie Mapwetter, Gustavus Adolphus Piggius (Gusbutt) and Queen Victoria of the Green Beans (Vickie). I'm still sobbing, but I know I've got to try and keep myself occupied. Mommas aren't supposed to have favorites, but she was mine. My queen, my hellion, my adorable little rascal. From tiny little ball of fluff to dignified matriarch, your life intersected with mine. Momma loves you so very much. Sleep well, little girl.

This is what went to the Guinea Pig Daily Digest:
My precious Molly crossed the Bridge tonight, taking a chunk of my soul with her. She turned seven just a couple months ago, and up until this afternoon still had the world by the tail. Feisty and headstrong, she ruled over all. Treats came on -her- schedule according to -her- preferences or she'd give me 'the butt'... turning herself away and hitching up her rear end at me. She was my queen bee and knew it.

She died in my arms tonight, from what the vet said looked like a heart attack. The vet noted that she was just a tiny tad underweight and quite old, and shook her head sadly. She's bundled up in her favorite towel... tomorrow morning I'll take her remains up to Heavenly Days in Urbana and see to my final duties. I feel cold inside, like someone's emptied me and left me all alone. Winkie, Pumpkin and Bennett are all out of sorts and upset, Winkie easily as upset as I am. Although they weren't cage mates (both were too old to be spayed/neutered by the time I had space big enough for them), they'd sat side by side for years, and he's angry/upset that 'his woman' is MIA. They used to sit for hours nose to nose through the bars, sometimes even passing treats back and forth. Molly never shared her blueberries, though anything else was workable.

I'm babbling. I'm sorry. I miss my baby girl so badly. I'm going to go curl up and cry now.

~Ellie, Winkerton, Bennett and Pumpkin
~Remembering Olli, Kweepie, Gus, Vickie and Molly.

I've just gotten back from the vet. They can't find any reason why Molly hasn't eaten in a day and a half. Syringe feeding is what they recommended, sending home a pouch of Oxbow Critical Care for me to mix for her... which she absolutely loathes. Without someone to physically lock her down and hold her head still, syringe feeding is a bust. And when the vet comments on her having gone past 'middle age' and telling me what a good life she must have had I start going to pieces, even if she's trying to console me.

She's acting like Vickie did the night I lost her.