Ode to Avonlea

7:19 PM

She runs frantically on her wheel,
The axles squeaking and struggling to keep up
With her restless rodent race.

Her name is Avonlea,
The fictional yet three dimensional town
Of Prince Edward Island.
Her copper fur is like a ripped open pillow
Of soft down only tangible through teenage movies.
She scurries across my palm
Like bare feet on hot sand,
Pausing only to nibble at the faint scent of strawberries on my finger.

My Avonlea gulps down water from her homemade dispenser
As if she has journeyed across the Sahara.
She loves carrots, loves lettuce, loves to sleep
In her cozy summer igloo.
Sometimes she wants to be free,
And other times her place is in her caged paradise.
She knows no trouble,
But she's heard everything-
From the music of my soul
To the screams of pure excitement
Atop the low shelves beneath my window.

Oh, how I love my Avonlea!
And I'd love her even more-

If only she wasn't still at the pet store.

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