In my last post, I wrote with great excitement about rescuing the three baby squirrels I found on my balcony.
Living alone in a flat and having a busy life, I never really had the luxury of keeping a pet, even though I’ve always wanted one. So when these tiny creatures came into my life by chance, I felt a quiet joy at the thought of caring for them, watching them grow, and of the dream of one day releasing them back into the wild.
Over the past ten days, they became part of my daily routine. I would wake up around 5:00–5:30 AM in the morning, prepare their sugar, honey, and salt solution, clean their beddings, and feed them. I’d feed them again before leaving for work at around 9:00 AM. I even arranged my classes so I could return home early and feed them again around 4–5 PM, and then once more before dinner at 9–10 PM.
They would always respond with such excitement and energy whenever I would come near to feed them. All three of them would stir, crawl toward my fingers, grab them, and would try to gently gnaw at them. Their eyes hadn’t opened yet, and their teeth hadn’t come in, so they could only take the pedialyte solution. I tried once or twice to feed them soft rice without success. Every few days, I’d clean their bedding, and whenever I thought they might be cold, I’d warm a handkerchief slightly with an iron and place it inside their box. They would curl up on it and sleep.
It’s surprising how strong a bond can form in just ten days. Their small screeches, the anticipation of getting to feed them when I got home - these little things kept me occupied and filled my day with happiness.
Perhaps that’s why today feels so heavy.
This afternoon, with tears in my eyes, I’m writing this just to distract myself.
Everything seemed fine last night. I fed them, and I went to sleep as usual. But when I woke up today at 5:40 AM and went to check on them, one of them was lying still - already gone. I moved it aside, cleaned the box, and fed the other two, who seemed fine at the time. But around 9:00 AM, the second one began gasping for air and died right in front of me. The third held on for a few more hours, but it too didn’t make it.
I won’t lie. I broke down. Alone in my flat, I bawled my eyes out for a while. We had a state holiday today, and I was at home for the whole day, so it felt even harder.
This isn’t the first time I’ve faced something like this, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I think part of my pain comes from the small dream I had of watching them grow and eventually releasing them, and another part of it comes from my older memories. When my grandmother died in 2013 and my grandfather in 2015, I was there, and I was 14 and 16, respectively. I loved them so so much, and I think something from those moments never really left me. I still get flashes of that time whenever I see death up close and I cry alone.
Anyways, I’d like to let them know, if I can, that I really loved them and tried to care for them, and I hope they felt a little bit of my warmth and care too.
I’m feeling a bit broken today, and writing this just to distract myself, so there isn’t much more to say.
Until next time.