I guess you could say Princess Piggy Poo and I had our first altercation.
Just like every day—at least twice a day—she was tucked into my pocket and I was petting her little head. Suddenly, and without any provocation I can recall, my pinky became lodged between her top and bottom teeth. “Bad guinea pig!” I yelped, removing my finger from the pliers-like grip. Without hesitation my index finger tapped the lump in my pocket in defense of its smaller compatriot on the other side of my hand.
Not from the thump, it wasn’t hard, but I feared I scared her to death. I peered into the pocket, her little beady eyes open and staring blankly. Were those lifeless eyes? I couldn’t tell. If it wasn’t bad enough I beat my baby, I don’t even know what her eyes should look like. She spends too much damn time in that pocket where I can’t see her.
I lifted the pocket and there was no movement. With trepidation, hoping to be bitten as opposed to realizing my fear, I reached my hand back into the pocket. “Good God, Piggy, move,” I said. Nothing. I reached under her belly, which she hates, to get a reaction or feel for a heartbeat. I realized the heart pounding was my own.
My last resort was to peel her out of my pocket. My prayers were answered, I was no longer a murderess; Princess Piggy Poo lives.
Of course, I felt like shit for losing my temper. I forgot she had done something to provoke a reaction. Then I thought, what a brilliant combat tactic. Next time you’re in a fight, feign catatonic. Your nemesis will be stunned, you’ll win. Consider this free advice from a guinea pig that played possum.