When rodents can’t relax

If you’re looking for a pet that’s soft and cuddly-looking—and that will immediately go into cardiac arrest if you touch it—guinea pigs are perfect.

I’m babysitting two guinea pigs this week while daughter #1 and her husband are away. Every day—twice a day—I feed them, change their water, give them fresh bedding and try to bond.

It’s not going well.

Despite the fact that they’re basically morbidly obese rats with tiny feet and no tails, both of these guinea pigs—who I’ll call Bed Head and Sir Crapsalot—can defy gravity. As I walk toward them, they become airborne and smash off the walls of their cage, trying frantically to escape. You’d think I’d fired up a chainsaw.

To be fair, I’m used to cats—old, lazy cats that sleep 23-1/2 hours daily and only stand if they want to eat or use the litter box. My cats are so lazy that I have to shuffle if I’m walking in the dark—once they’re lying down they won’t move, even if they’re in the hallway. It’s like tripping over a large watermelon.

So, yes, I’m used to calmer pets. Pets that I can cuddle. So watching Bed Head and Sir Crapsalot act like I’m trying to murder them is a bit jarring.

“If you hand-feed them cucumber, they’ll love you,” daughter #1 claimed. Right. The first time I offered them cucumber, Bed Head raced off into the farthest corner of the cage and stayed there, tense and shaking, with his back toward me. It was the rodent version of The Blair Witch Project.

The next time I offered them cucumber, Sir Crapsalot got brave—he scuttled over, yanked the cucumber out of my hand and backpedaled frantically, trying to find the best spot to have his anxiety attack.

It’s kind of irritating that they’re this skittish. If they’d been born in Peru, they would have been eaten by now. Apparently, whole guinea pigs—roasted, grilled or deep fried—are considered a delicacy, there. Not once have I turned on the stove when they’ve been watching. I think they owe me a cuddle.