Sadly this will not be one of the usual rants. Really it is much more like one of my old journal entries, so if you are looking for comedy then I am afraid you should look elsewhere. Of course I doubt that I have any readership left since I never post any more but that is just as well since this is mostly for me anyway.
I am not sure if many people would take seriously the passing of a gerbil. I think most people have a fundamental problem with rodents of all types and most likely consider them to be no great loss. I suppose that is fine for those people if they have no heart and no sympathy but I am not one of them. I love gerbils. I used to have one named Gypsy. I had her for four years, which is twice the gerbil since they are only supposed to live for two. Eventually I got two new gerbils. Ash and Francis. Ash is my fiance Mary's gerbil and Francis was mine. I love Francis. He was very cute and very sweet. He was energetic and bright eyed. He would dart around the cage with an unleashed excitement. He would wake up every morning when he knew I fed them and would wait on the spot where the food goes. He was always happy and sweet. I could take him out and play with him and he wouldn't bite, although maybe he would nibble a bit if you had a digit sticking out and he didn't realize that it was attatched to you. He was so wonderful and I loved him more than I could express in words. Today, Francis died.
Now many of you(I say that as a formality as no one is really reading) may wonder why that is such a big deal, right? Pets die. However this particular one died because of me. He was in his gerbil ball and the lid came open so Francis was out running around. He had gotten into the furnace and I was frantic to get him out. I had him in my hands at one point but he jumped out and was away again, this time heading into my bedroom. I chased after him and at a critical moment, he swerved right under my foot. I tried to pull my foot back but it was too late. My foot had hit him and split his tiny head open. At first I didn't realize it...he was obviously in distress but I thought at worst I had accidentally broken a leg or something. Then I saw the blood. He was convulsing as I scooped him up. I wanted to do something but he was just convulsing. I screamed 'no' over and over again as if that could possibly help. It was over in less than a minute and he was dead. I just stared at the furry little body, blood soaked in his fur. I kissed him before my friend took him away.
Its been several hours and I have talked and talked about it, people telling me that it was an accident and it wasn't my fault. I know that but at the same time I can't help but feel the responsibility. He would be alive if I hadn't stepped on him. I have had pets die before, but I have never been the one to kill them. Honestly, I don't know if I could ever describe the terror, sadness and deep deep guilt that I feel. Just this morning Francis woke me up to feed him because I was sleeping late. Some people would have been mad at him for ruining their sleep but I just smiled and fed him. I fed him believing that I would do the same tomorrow morning.
I miss my little guy. I miss him so much my heart hurts. I miss him and wish I could tell him how sorry I am for ending his little life, the life that in the five short months he graced mine, made me so very happy. I love my little Francis even now, but that does nothing to fix his head and bring life back to his furry little body. I woud do just about anything for that, but there is nothing left now...
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