"I hope he's just napping"

We have cared for cats with thyroid problems, blind kitties, neurotic dogs, dogs with separation anxieties, dogs sporting the "cone of shame", goats and chickens (more on that later), house plants, tomato plants, babies, run-of-the-mill children, and a guinea pig, all this summer.  The  g. pig, Pumpkin, was our guest for two weeks.  He learned to enjoy lap time with Sonja and was a cute addition to our menagerie.  
Sunday afternoon Annaliese said, "Mom, Pumpkin isn't moving."  The thought/prayer was, "Oh please, let him be napping."  Unfortunately he was beyond rousing and we knew we were going to have to break the news to his family when they returned from their trip.  We thought the family would return the next day, so I kept him in his cage.  But when most of Monday had passed and his owners had not showed up, I decided to give him a burial.  At that point, if we waited any longer it might have crossed the line from sentimental to disturbing.   I, or more accurately, Jackson, put Pumpkin in a shoe box and buried him in the backyard.  
When the family returned Tuesday afternoon I knew I had to make the dreaded trip across the alley (...thoughts of Lucille Ball-type sitcoms ran through my mind...would they notice a new guinea pig?)  After some initial small-talk, I had to tell the mom the bad news.  She took it well...in fact she laughed.  Then she handed me a nicely illustrated envelope containing our petsitting fee.  There on the paper was a darling drawing of Pumpkin with a word bubble coming from his little g. pig mouth, saying, "Thanks!"  The irony.  When her girls were told of Pumpkin's demise they yelled, "Yay!  Now we can get a turtle!"  (In their defense, the mom had told me ahead of time not to worry if the g. pig died; interest in him had waned.  Poor Pumpkin.)