The day after Rex died, I cleaned out my room and the pets’ closet. There were the obvious things to get rid of: bags of rabbit food, a bale of hay, and his old bedding. The cardboard castle would have to go, too. The cats didn’t seem to have much use for it without Rex around.

But the closet was still full of items that I not only wasn’t using, but may never use again. An old rabbit cage. A couple of hamster cages. A bin full of mouse wheels and Habitrail tunnels. Dog dishes. Water bottles. Small animal carriers. Who was I kidding? Just as I’d been mentally preparing myself for Rex’s eventual passing, I’d also been preparing myself for the reality that no more pets would be entering this household anytime soon. I need to close that chapter of my life for awhile.

So all of it went. Everything that wasn’t needed for the cats was piled into my car, filling the trunk and the back seat (and the passenger seat, too), and then donated went to the local Humane Society.

The intended purpose of clearing out all that stuff was not to rid myself of reminders of Rex, which is fine, because it really didn’t work out that way. I still look down from my bed every morning, expecting to see a rabbit. I still pause before placing something down on my floor, considering the likelihood that it might get chewed. I still find myself heading in to feed Rex dinner every night, right before I go to feed the cats. I still find it strange to walk into my room without having to shut a baby gate. I still have to remember that I don’t have a rabbit anymore.

Adjusting is hard.

So I guess we’re not much of a domestic ‘zoo’ anymore, though I’m keeping the name. It sounds a lot better than ‘Confessions of a Crazy Cat Lady’.