I came home from work one day last week and Reno was dead.
He had caught something that made him very sick, very quickly. Even though I did all I could, I was frantic, upset, and most of all- I felt like it was my fault. Just a rat? Think of it this way: a living creature I took care of for almost two years and had the privilege of seeing every single day is now buried in a box under a tree at my parent's house. Now isn't that sad? I loved that goofy little guy, and sure I still have two left, but it's not the same. He was one of the first rats I ever owned and he hadn't even lived to his full life. I'm still mortified only a few days later. I can't stop thinking about the suffering.
I'm a very caring person, and when it comes to animals, that caring is multiplied by a million. It's who I've always been. I'll miss my over-eating rat baby forever.
