About a year and a half ago, my wonderful squeeze and I invited a small hamster into our home. It was initially reluctant to be our pal, fearing our every move and spent most of the time cowering in the corner of its cage. As we were unable to pick up said hamster, we were lacking in knowledge of its gender. Male hamsters tend to have nuts as big as their heads, and drag them around in a comic fashion, back legs barely able to reach the floor, but as this was a fairly young one, we weren't entirely convinced that the lack of comedy ballsack wasn't just a symptom of its youth. We needed a name, and it had to be gender neutral (we couldn't just go changing it later on) so we picked Charlie. In later life, this would be extended to the full respectful title of Baroness Charleston P Hamster the First. We were a happy little family, me, the lady and our furry chum, regularly spending our evenings together romping around the sofa and having a bit of a sleep here and there. Unfortunately, last week, tragedy struck...
Somebody forgot to close the cage door at bedtime. And by somebody, I mean me. OH NOES!
Little Charleston escaped from her boudoir and, ever the inquisitive little mite, she went roaming. That was on Wednesday. It is now Monday, and despite carefully laying food in every room of the house, as well as erecting cunning hamster traps all over the place (basically just some apple in a bucket) we have not seen hide, hair nor evidence of her hanging about since.
It seems most plausible that she has left the house, as we have turned the place over about twenty times now. Unfortunately, the world is a hostile place for coddled hamsters with no learned sense of fear. It's been frosty lately, there are cats about, foxes and owls live in the park behind our house, and there are giant spiders in our garden. It is sad, but we have accepted that the worst has most likely happened.
What gets me most is how the whole escapade has been lacking in finality. With little rodents like hamsters and whatnot, you are always aware that they live for only a fraction of the time that humans live for. They rarely get much over two years in which to complete their various projects. I had always assumed that one day I would find Charlie in her cage, having passed away peacefully in a safe, warm, loving home, wanting for nothing and having all that a little hamster could want. Instead all we have now is an empty cage sitting on the living room floor with a sad little trail of yogurt drops leading to the door, and a feeling that our relationship didn't end as it should have done. I imagine that this feeling is some fraction of what a parent feels when their child runs away from home. You worry for them and kick yourself for not having done more to make them want to stay. Children are a bit easier to communicate with than hamsters though.
I would like to think she might still be out there living it up in the park, having made herself a new home and new friends. She might be leader to a pack of wild rodents now, or off on some wild adventure. If she isn't still going though, I hope very much that she wasn't too scared at the end.
Poor little hamster. If only she wasn't so mindbendingly stupid.
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Poor Charlie-mouse The Hamster. Perhaps she's having a terribly exciting adventure, and is enjoying the sensation of the wind in her fur as we speak.
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