My pet hamster

The blow dryer was loud as I entered my mother’s room. It was dark out, and my new pet hamster clung shivering to my thumb. I was giddy.

“Hi mom!”

She started and clicked off the dryer. “Hi there. I didn’t hear—Oh God, you got a mouse.”

“He’s a hamster. Want to hold him?”

“I guess.”

Her arms held stiff, hands cupped, I passed him off. “His name’s Chestnut.”

“Like chestnuts roasting on an open fire?” She smiled.

Swiftly, inexplicably, almost as if he’d understood, Chestnut bit down on mom’s finger. As she yelped and Chestnut sailed through the air, I felt the certainty of statistics—of Chinese hamsters’ 2-3 year expected life span—fly away with my new pet. His first life extinguished, however, I wondered how many turns Chestnut would get before his big Game Over.

A few months later, settled into his new home in the terrarium atop my piano, Chestnut got the chance to meet a few friends who’d come over to see him.

“He’s so cute!” Laura squealed as I brought him from my room.

Chestnut was still and disoriented from being woken up, and as I set him down on Laura’s shoulder, she made a face and quickly brushed him back into my hands. I offered him again to her, and she took him carefully into her hands.

“What’s his name?” she asked.

“Chestnut.”

She laughed. “Like chestnuts roasting on an open fire?”

It was too much. Wandering the expanse of Laura’s thighs not a minute later, Chestnut left a tiny puddle behind, and Laura flung him from her lap and shouted, “Paper towel! I need a paper towel.”

Two down, I thought.

Since those two formative encounters, I’ve kept Chestnut’s interactions with others limited to me holding him. If others want to touch him, they can stroke him on his head or along his back—nothing more. I hesitate, too, to introduce him by name; it’s become a running joke in my family.

Chestnut has never bitten me, never gone to the bathroom as I’ve held him. I’ve never thrown him or let him drop, and have never had reason to. Yet sometimes, when it comes time to clean his cage, and Chestnut’s huddled trembling and warm in my palm, I feel the unsettling urge to hurl him at the wall, just to witness the end on which the universe seems bent.

photo credit: David Masters