Houdini Hamster

by Patti


Last summer, S begged me into a submission until I agreed to let her have a hamster. We had tried fish (they died), a guinea pig (Allergies! Went to live with my mom!), a cat (who should have been named Wanderlust. She ran away 3 times -- the last time stuck), birds (dear GOD those things don't stop chirping, like, EVER), and finally, S decided to try to convince me that THE magic pet was a hamster.

She did her research and presented her case, and swore to the moon and back that she would take good care of the little fellow, and she even saved her own money to buy him.

So I finally agreed, and that is how Gus came into our lives.

I'm cute & fragile, but I ain't no Pollyanna

I have to admit, Gus is pretty darned cute - for a rodent. He is a hamster, so at least he doesn't sport that creepy, ropey rat tail that makes me want to crawl out of my skin and run screaming down the street all skinless. And most of all, S had been true to her word. Sure, she sometimes forgets Gus exists, but for the most part, she's been a pretty good Hamster mom, and I think the experience of caring for him has gotten her even more ready for what's to come next month when we bring home a puppy.

One night, annoyed with the hacking my husband was doing all. night. long. in our bed thanks to his Man Cold, I huffily grabbed my pillow and headed for the basement to try to sleep in silence. We were "dog sitting" M's co-worker's dog, Homie, at the time, and before heading down, I decided to let Homie sleep with me. Too exhausted to even pull out the bed from the convertible couch, I plopped directly onto the couch with Homie and fell promptly to sleep.

Suddenly, I don't know how long later, I woke with a start. I heard a ruckus coming from the other side of the basement, and I shot up from the couch as my eyes tried to focus in the dark. That's when I saw Homie half under S's craft table, his cream-colored ass up in the air. "What the...?" I was a bit drunk with sleep, and my mind didn't understand what was going on. I got up from the couch, unsteady, my heart pounding, and that's when I saw it: GUS WAS RUNNING ACROSS THE BASEMENT FLOOR, Homie chasing him, his paws pouncing heavily after him. Gus did a few zig-zag manuevers, desperately attempting to escape death, and I lunged after Homie, grabbing him by  the neck and pushing him into the bathroom. By the time I turned around, Gus was gone.

I eat hamsters

I stood there for a moment, weighing my options. I now knew it was 3 am. I also knew I had to get up at 7 am for work. I also knew that Gus was gone. S was sleeping upstairs, totally oblivious to the fact that her beloved Gus was gone. I was tired, and was in no mood to perform search and rescue at this very moment. I let the thought cross my mind: Would it be so bad if I just went back to sleep and didn't look for Gus? And then immediately squashed it: GOD WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU?

I looked for Gus. Even though I was exhausted and had to be up in 4 hours and the basement suddenly seemed like a vast, endless, infinity of possible places to hide. There I was, crawling along the walls on my hands and knees, squatting under tables, peering under couches, moving furniture. I was SO ANNOYED.  M was hacking upstairs, all feverish and phlegmy, and I hated him at that moment for daring to be sick. And I hated that hamster for daring to be so small. And I hated Homie for being a rodent-chasin' night-wrecker.

I searched for an hour and could not find him anywhere. I sat on the couch, practicing my "I did what I could" speech to S, when I heard it. "Scratch, scratch, scratch." The sounds seemed to be coming from under my butt. "Scratch. Scratch. SCRATCH." I jumped up from the couch, fearing I'd plastered Gus. "Scratch, scratch. Scratch." I had already looked under the couch; he hadn't been there. I carefully removed all of the cushions, and very slowly began to pull out the bed from the couch. When the bed was half out, I peered into the space underneath and wouldn't you know it, there was Gus. He was just sitting there, ever-so-casually CLEANING HIMSELF, not a care in the world. He looked almost... triumphant. As if he knew he'd pulled one over on all of us. I grabbed his exercise ball and put the furry little asshole in it, and transferred him back to his cage, and then I wired it shut. Then I took Homie out of the bathroom and put him upstairs in the kitchen. And THEN I went back to the basement and tried to go back to sleep. But all night long I had dreams of dogs killing hamsters, and it was a sweaty, sleep-deprived nightmarish night.

A couple of weeks later, Homie returned to his owner, M, S, and I went on our road trip. My mom, animal lover that she is, agreed to come by our house every day to play with Gus and feed him. On the last day of our road trip, when we were 6 hours from home, my  mom called me, hysterical. "I CAN'T FIND GUS! I THINK HE'S DEAD!" And because, you know, there was just so much I could do to revive a hamster from six hours away, I told my mom to go home and not worry about it. Of course, she thought I was some newly minted monster, but the truth was, I knew exactly where Gus was. He was living the high life under the couch, probably throwing a rodent rave and laughing to all of his friends about the fools he had for owners.