you will always be my best.

linnea was my first, and i loved her all i could.

(i’m sorry i ignored you all that time -- i knew not what i should.)

i remember her last day, watching her struggle finally end.

i remember being lost then, wondering how i’d ever mend.

and i remember finding you, her last remaining friend.

that was many years ago, my cinnamon renae.

we were both young then -- you could still fit in my palm.

i remember the day, just a few weeks after she left,

when i first showed you up the stairs.

you caught on quick, and you ran up them quicker.

eventually you knew how to run through the whole house to find your cage.

i remember how you’d wait patiently at its door

for me to catch up and let you back in.

then you punctured your right eye, and we all thought you would die.

the vet said guinea pigs don’t make it, not without surgery.

but i put ointment on it every day, and hoped you’d be okay.

somehow, somewhere, someone wanted you to stay.

your eye was scarred for life and the blindness made your head tilt to the right,

but i loved you even more because at least you were alive.

mom told me i should pray for you, and spend some time in case you died,

so one desperate night i picked you up and brought you on my bed.

i looked into your deep brown eyes, and stroked your golden fur.

we said no words, but i think you know what i meant.

“i love you, but please, if you have to go, you’re free.

i’ll be alright here, so don’t worry about me.”

they say that love can’t save a life, but i learned otherwise that night.

you came back to me, you weren’t going to leave,

and you were even better than before.

perhaps you knew just how close you came to dying,

because after that moment, you lived each day like it was your last.

but although your mind was fresh and new,

your body finally caught up to you.

your fur lost some luster and got lighter around your nose.

you lost a little weight, and your good eye started clouding up.

you were slower, calmer, wiser; a sign of your years.

we got closer as the years went on, even with all that.

you loved your blankets and pillows, especially that heating pad.

i loved when you’d climb up my chest and snuggle under my neck.

i carried you around and snuck you into stores.

a girl with a guinea pig in a stroller? that was me and you.

and despite your fragile old age, you never lost your spark.

you ran to protect sweet charlette, and helped her find a friend.

you’d climb up on the bars of the cage and beg me for treats.

you’ve been the only pig who’s purred when i throw veggies in,

and certainly the only pig who’s loved that mushy recovery food so much.

i remember how you’d sit in your bed

and immediately start chattering at me to hurry up.

(and how you were always so miffed at me those days i had to give you fluids first.)

then we went home, and i cried again

as i put you back into the cage so your friends could say goodbye.

i watched them groom you, kiss you, and try anything to revive you.

when they were done, i held you close to me and cut off a lock of your fur.

i lay you back in your bed so i could say goodbye.

i brushed you, kissed you, and i would have done anything to revive you.

the next few months got easier, but i still felt your loss.

i put your ashes into an engraved wooden urn

on my headboard, sitting in your favorite bed.

tiny crocheted replicas of you, linnea, and charlette stand between them.

there’s a tiny pinch of your ashes

in a coral-pink, silver heart pendant, right next to linnea’s.

i wear it every day so i never forget you.

(and how could i forget you now, with cassia mireille?

she looks just like you, with the same golden hair.

and she’s a little feisty brat too.

somehow i noticed her on the shelter’s website that summer afternoon.

i think i’ll blame you.)