Godspeed, My Hamster Friend

Herself speaks.

Rocky the hamster, ancient and venerable, has gone to meet his Maker.

He had done well despite his advanced age; he ran and snacked and hoarded his food and fluffed his nest and rootled about in the bedding of his lair and regularly peeked out of his habitat to greet us and ask for treats. When he emerged from his nest yesterday evening, though, it was clear that he was ailing. He chose to rest out in the open by his igloo, eyes mostly closed, curled comfortably with head resting on paws. He did not seem to be in pain. I touched him lightly, and he did not complain. (Previously, he would flinch or run at contact; it was clear that he was well beyond those reactions now.) He was waiting for the right Time, and it was clear that Time was near.

I provided a square of fluffy bedding and a piece of sweet potato nearby to him, in case he felt a need for nesting or a snack, and let him be.

And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life. —J.K. Rowling, Tales of Beedle the Bard

This morning, his body remained curled gently in its spot, and he was gone. 

He was a handsome creature, even in death, with his soft grey fur and his little rounded ears. He looked  peaceful. I removed the giant nest he had built these past few months in his exercise wheel and put it into a box; I tucked him carefully into the nest. He has his stash of kibble within his nest to carry him into the Afterlife, where sunflower seeds will abound and all shall be warm and safe. Godspeed, my fine tiny fur friend. 

We will bury him with the other pets in my in-laws' garden. It is a Good Resting Place.

Farewell, Rocky. Thank you for your time with us.