While we were getting ready for Mass/Baby Jesus' Birthday Party on Sunday, J.J. called in: "Mom, Furious is squeeping." (sleeping)

You never want to hear those words as the mother of a pet owner. Fish "sleep" belly up. Guinnea Pigs "sleep" on their side.

When Richie came over to see his "sleeping" Guinnea pig, he announced what I already knew. Furious was dead.

While Richie was given Furious as a birthday present, and fed her and cleaned her cage, J.J. was the one who played with Furious. He planned a birthday party for Furious in November and had the idea to put carrot slices and lettuce in cupcake paper. J.J. built her houses with his blocks and read her books. He claimed that she starred in Home Alone 3 as a pet rat.

On the other hand, J.J. blamed his farts on Furious, occassionally lost her under the T.V. console, and, well, sometimes didn't have the best grip on her.

Justin and I secretly wondered if Furious saw J.J. as a friend, a father, or an insane dictator. In the end, I think Furious saw J.J. as a little boy. Because of him, she had an exciting life. Of course, I'm not a Guinnea pig mind reader. But I say this because she let him hold her without scratching, and didn't run into the corner when he came to her cage, which she did before she got to know him.

And J.J. loved Furious.

The saddest part of the whole thing came between the birthday party for Jesus, which Justin left early to dig a hole in the frozen ground, and the funeral, when we laid Furious to rest with a carrot.

Furious was still in her cage, and J.J. stood there alone. "Furious, why did you have to die?" he asked. "Why did you have to die, Furious?"

He was really waiting for an answer.