I've been slacking on blogging lately, mostly because I haven't had much to say besides "Is it June yet?" But after talking to my parents yesterday I thought I had to report the tragedy that occurred in our very own little small town.
We all wondered what my parents would do after all the children fled Painted Post. Luckily, they inherited the chinchillas my brother bought in his inherent maturity (what college sophomore WOULDN'T want a couple of chinches to hump each other in a cage?). To no one's surprised, Fiona and Tails (named after the Sonic the Hedgehog game) mated and had their first litter of three shortly after my brother transferred to a school in NYC. My dad promptly built them a mansion in my sister's old closet, an effort to keep her from moving back in. Soon after, my younger cousins became obsessed with the idea of having them as pets and my parents brought Henri and Cha-cha down to Charlotte for Christmas, leaving the last baby, Chi-chi, at home. Clearly, they're replacing us with rodents.
Anyway, a week ago, Chi-chi began showing some, uh, affection for Fiona. My dad heard a ruckus and went downstairs to see, in his words, Tails "chasing the shit out of Chi-chi." Thinking some cool down time would do the trick, he separated them. After bringing him back to the cage, they seemed to be alright.
Wrong. Fast forward a few hours and they found Chi-chi huddled in the corner, practically bitten to death by his Dad. And in our house! What a tragedy... like Oedipus. Eek.
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