“Why is it that people don’t know what to say when something bad has happened to someone they know? Maybe because they think there are some magic words that will make everything all right again, only they don’t know what the words are.”
Ellen Wittlinger, Hard Love

Heehee, I feel that way, that what I say should make things better. ^.^

J.T. died sometime before 10. Mommy checked on him and found him dead, although she said, “He doesn’t feel that stiff, he must have died recently.” I said I didn’t want to see him, but then Mommy said, “You don’t want to say goodbye? Okay, Wulfie said goodbye.” “Wait!” and I went to look at im; his eyes were half open. “But he’s not in there anymore … it’s not him …” She started moving him around and singing, or something, and I ran away. She was going to set him by the door, to take to the shelter tomorrow, but she thought the cats would start attacking him. So he’s in his cage. Stimpy was kept in the freezer until we could bury him.

MY JAYJO!!! He’s dead! The last guinea pig (well, second, Buba was the first) that would put his head on my shoulder when I carried him. The one that gave me a horrid rash on my neck when I carried him. The one we rescued from my friend who was scared of him. ;_; He’s not here anymore, the one who held my last tie to adoring guinea pigs. Now they’re kind of … just there. ;_;

Mommy said J-jo must have had cancer or kidney failure to die so quickly, because he had a full stomach last night.