My Guinea Pig Ran Away From Home

My guinea pig ran away from home. I think he might have been sick of me.

He lived his life in his cage, which was wide enough to make him feel at home. He had food and water and an exercise wheel. He roamed around the apartment at least once a day and received carrot treats occasionally. I thought he lived a good life for a guinea pig.

But, my guinea pig ran away from home, and I think it was because of me.

Perhaps he’s in his own place now. Perhaps he owns a better apartment than I do. Where the hell did he get the money? That little bastard. He probably had an art installation coming up in The Village. It probably gained popularity because his art is actually good. It mainly consists of walnuts and guinea pig nudes. It’s all the rage these days.

He probably brings home a new woman every night to his new apartment. He probably has to urge to feel fulfilled in life, and perhaps his art isn’t cutting it for him. There are some nights he probably feels lonely.

Do you think he misses me?

There are some nights where probably both him and I are eating cereal at the same exact time. He probably gets the expensive brand cereal that has all the nutrients Lucky Charms should have.

He might be rubbing elbows with people that might better his career. He might be getting business deals that will get him out of his apartment. He might even propose to his guinea pig girlfriend, the one who started coming to all of his shows. The one who never left, even when he told her to go. The one who loved him back as much as he loved her.

How’d he get down all those flights of stairs? I’m on the 11th floor. Do you think that maybe he took the elevator?

He most likely has a really expensive Tom Ford suit, made from only the finest materials. He, naturally, only eats at the finest restaurants and has the decency to order a salad every once in a while, but in front of other guinea pigs of course, so that they know he’s decent. But of course, he has the nerve to work out three times a week. He takes a spin class on Sundays, but still has time to watch the game because he simply must be immersed in all forms of entertainment.

Or, maybe, he might be on the couch, eating Lucky Charms, longing for love, waiting for a business deal in a ripped t-shirt and sweatpants.

Maybe, perhaps, he might be just like me.

Update: he came back two days later with a tattoo and a hickey. He was visiting old high school friends.