Last night, walking down the hall to get everyone to bed, we reached into Paul's cage to discover that he had passed away in his sleep. Rachel, who is 12 years old, got very very quiet but didn't cry. We talked about the last time we saw him running around his wheel or chewing the bars of his cage in preparation for his next big escape, and we figured he expired either that day or the day before.
Paul was a reclusive little guy, whom we all agreed had some pretty unique traits. Here he is pictured with 21 raw almonds stuffed into his cheeks. It had been decided that if he were human, he'd be the guy who sits around the house in his shorts and grubby wife-beater (that's a tank top style undershirt,) smoking cigars and yelling at the neighbor kids to get off his lawn.
Funeral arrangements will be handled by me, with visitation and a short service today just before lunch. Burial will be handled by our trash man. Due to the nature of the ceremony planned, Rachel and Frank decided it would be best if they did not attend, but our dog Caesar plans to attend the event. In lieu of flowers, we may donate his unopened food and treat bags to the local humane society.
Unless Rachel talks us into getting a gerbil.
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