PRINCESS KICKS THE BUCKET
I go away for one day...one day...and the fucking guinea-pig dies.
This is exactly why I was against having pets. Not the fact that the kids would be distraught and I'd have to do that whole mortality/what-happens-to-things-when-they-die chat-thing, but the fact that I'd get completely attached to it and fall to pieces.
So Chris shoves it in a shoe-box, then does a night-shift and goes to bed, leaving the bloody funeral arrangements to me. Kid Kid Shirt, who has shown nothing but indifference to the wee beastie was completely gutted, and she set me off, so that the pair of us ended up blubbing on the sofa.
Kid Kid Kid Shirt who was extremely fond of, er, Princess (don't ask!) laughed when I told her. Go figure.
Even the comfort concept of Heaven - a fall-back position for most parents when faced w/ pet mortality - was denied to me; payback for our banned use of the J- and G-words. That's what happens when yr a 1/64th Existential-Jewish-Buddhist-Gnostic Hawkwind fan.
So go gentle with me; I'm still feeling fragile. Death does that to me.