In the mid-'70s, my cousin Karen used to raise guinea pigs. In '75, one of her females had a litter of pups (I don't know what you call a baby guinea pig) so she gave me one. She told me she had to keep it for a little while until it was a few weeks old, then I could have it. The second day I went to her house to see my new pet, and she told me that while she was cleaning out the cage her cat got a hold of my guinea pig and ate it. The second day. That damn cat had to eat my guinea pig and left Karen's alone. I didn't even get to name it. I was devastated, but then again I knew deep down that mom would never allow me to bring it home. She never did like those things.