As a little girl, I had two guinea pigs, Yum Yum and Muy Muy. My cat Max used to spend his days in the cage with them in the summer when it was outside. It was one of those big, round cornerd, half-clear plastic things with a hole in the top. Max, a very large though seemingly boneless tabby cat, would plaster himself along one side and watch the pigs as they ate and bumped into each other and purred and did their thing. Every once and a while, they would drift over to his side of the cage and bump into him. At this point he couldn’t resist and he would grab one, roll on his back and kind of pretend-gum her to death, then let her go, then everyone would go back to their corner. The guinea pigs were sweet and trusting and had a very short attention span, sort of like goldfish are supposed to have: “Hey, look at the castle!” “Hey, look at the castle!” For them, it must have been “Hey, there’s Max!” “Hey, there’s Max!” Max knew he wasn’t allowed to eat them, so this scenario would repeat itself over and over again all summer long.
So when I saw this picture I just about booked a ticket to Edmonton on the spot. A whole herd of guinea pigs! As Steve would say, Squee!
Except for they’re dead. (CBC)