There is a whole guinea pig opera happening in our house, and friends, it is enthralling.

Scene one. We meet Ralph. Ralph is adorable, and has black and red hair all smoosh cattywampus. We had gone to the pet store for a hamster. The child (weirdly accurately) determines this fiesty hamster is a better choice for her pet.

My sister and I had guinea pigs as children. (Mine died young. Hers lived forever, eventually teaching our young pup a lesson about boundaries. It is possible our mother admitted to some complicity in Blackie's death yesterday. Life is a mystery). I admit, Ralph is cute.

I discuss with my husband on the phone, because I remember that unlike hamsters, they like having friends. Ralph is in his cage with a friend, but the kidlet likes the looks of another GP. We're notified they are too far apart in age and it will end in tears, but one is fine.

SURE ONE IS FINE.

Now, there is a tiny miracle because a neighbor who has started a GP circus actually has a spare cage so we swing into action so we're ready, and bring Ralph home yesterday and he is deeply adorable.

And then he sits in the corner in a trance and cries.

Crying is not the right word. Keening? It is this sad rolling sound and it is utterly heartbreaking and no blinking and I googled it and the internet said "THIS IS A BEHAVIOR AND NOISE NO ONE REALLY UNDERSTANDS BUT IS HEARD MOST FREQUENTLY WHEN THEY LOSE A PARTNER."

That's right, we are monsters, and by the time we figured it out the pet store was closed, and I definitely didn't cry last night because I was hoping I could get *this one thing right*.

We agreed I was not a total monster, but also we would go to the pet store at 9am for a rescue/reunification mission.

Ralph, in the morning, was still in his trance. It didn't look like he had eaten. Obviously the reunification mission was a go with no question.

We were there at 8:45. Did I mention they opened at 9.