We are currently “pet sitting” a friend’s dwarf hamster, and
I am nervous. We don’t have a particularly good track record in the pet sitting
department. Our family is relatively free from any wrongdoing or mayhem, but a
number of our former pets have been murdered by others while we were on
vacation. A small measure of comfort can be found in the fact that all of them
were fish, and actually, technically, one of them committed suicide.
Our very first pet was a betta fish from PetSmart. I named
him Alpha, because I am just witty like that. I really don’t have any idea how
we ended up with a betta fish that I didn’t want in the first place. It started
when we made the mistake of strolling into PetSmart one sunny afternoon when
the boys were very young, just killing time and thinking it would be fun for
them to see some of the animals. Sort of like a really low-budget zoo with no
admission fee. As it turns out, the admission fee was whatever I spent an hour
later on a fish, a fishbowl, and special betta fish food. I still have no idea
how that happened.
The boys were super-interested in Alpha for about the first
thirty minutes that he was at our house, then he lived out his remaining days
being roundly ignored by everyone except for me, who was in charge of feeding
him. Actually, technically, he lived
out his remaining days at our friends’ house, before he gave into despair and
ended his own life by launching himself out of the top of his little round
bowl, and suffocating on their countertop. They came home from the grocery
store to witness the horrific scene, and were beside themselves with grief and
VERY misplaced feelings of guilt.
We got a call from them while we were still on vacation,
saying there had been a tragic accident. Alpha had perished. My first thought
was, “Great!” Then I was given the really bad news. Without consulting his next
of kin, they had foolishly rushed to PetSmart and replaced him with an almost
identically-colored betta fish, Alpha 2.0. Not only that, they had purchased a
little green fish net, and a few other aquarium supplies, for some unknown
reason.
“What were you thinking?” I yelled into the phone. “This was
our chance to be done with him. I was a few days away from flushing him myself,
and you bought a new one?!?”
I don’t think I took the “bad news” the way they were
expecting. Alpha 2.0 lived out his remaining years being completely ignored by
everyone in the house except me. I fed him with contempt in my heart every day
until his last gasp, then pushed the toilet handle down without the least bit
of ceremony. One of the boys casually inquired, “Where’s the fish?” about a
month and a half later.
Because my boys were so enamored with our first (two) fish,
it was a little bit of a surprise to me when a year or so later they came home
from the carnival with grandma holding a bag full of goldfish. I set up the
goldfish bowl, all the while giving grandma the evil eye. I don’t really
remember how many fish she allowed into my home that day, but after the
standard carnival goldfish die-off period, we were left with four good fish. I
fed them each day while the children failed to care or even remember they were
in the house. Then one day we went on vacation again. The four goldfish went to
our next door neighbors’ house, this time with very explicit instructions that if
any or all of them were to die, they were not to be replaced under any circumstances.
I’m very glad I remembered to express our no replacement
policy, because the Great California Goldfish Cleaning Massacre took place
while we were out of town. Their son, who was only one or two years old at the
time, decided to feed our fish one evening. He climbed up on the counter, and
grabbed the big bottle of “fish food,” which was actually Comet, and shook a
liberal amount into their bowl. It turns out that Comet is not very good for
goldfish. Instead of just getting really clean, they die. Unfortunately, his
older sister realized what had happened a little too early, and managed to save
one of the fish.
When we came home, they returned to us one very sparkling-clean
fishbowl with one very mangy-looking fish. The chemicals hadn’t done him any
favors, but he was one tough little carnival goldfish. He managed to hang on
for a few more weeks and finally rode the porcelain highway to goldfish Heaven.
With all of our past pet sitting issues, needless to say, we
are a little afraid to own anything larger or more emotionally valuable than a
goldfish. We do have a pair of small garter snakes as pets now, but they live
in a large fish tank and can go for weeks without eating, so they don’t require
any sitting when we leave town. Their food does, though. Guess what we keep in
the house to feed the snakes? Yes, goldfish.
I’m back to feeding goldfish twice a day, but at least this
time, since they are snake food, I don’t expect the kids to pay attention to
them. If one of these goldfish dies, I don’t flush it. They only cost eleven
cents each, but I can’t stand to just throw them away, since their ultimate
purpose is to expire anyway. Plus, our snakes are actually pretty lazy and prefer
the dead ones. So besides the bowl full of live goldfish on my kitchen counter,
I have a plastic jug, half full of water and floating dead goldfish in my
refrigerator. Let’s just say, you don’t want to go exploring for a refreshing drink
at our house without a tour guide.
Anyway, back to the hamster. I am nervous because this is
our first real pet sitting experience watching someone else’s animal, and I don’t
know if the cloud of pet sitting death that hangs above us is only reserved for
our own pets, or if we are universally cursed. We have managed to keep our own
snakes alive for months now, but they are very low maintenance. A while ago we
watched a hermit crab for a week, but again, how hard can that be? We could
have accidentally left it in the car all week and it wouldn’t have known the
difference.
Hamsters are a whole new ball game. They are cuddly and
furry and soft and cute. They require food and water at regular intervals, and my
three boys constantly want to hold him. I’m afraid for the little guy’s life
when they start arguing about who gets him next.
The two little boys who own this hamster will notice if they
don’t get it back. They might also notice if they get a different one back, so
we are playing a high-stakes game here. One reason they might notice a covert hamster
switch-out, is this one seems to have a bald spot on its right side. Also, its
butt looks a little swollen and funny looking. Hmm… That almost looks like it
could be a tumor. Crap!
Was it like that when we got him? Did he already have that
bald spot, or is his fur falling out because of the curse? Is he even a he? His/her/its
name is Hammie. That could go either way. How do you even tell if a dwarf
hamster is a boy or a girl? I guess I’ll Google it.
Whoa!!!! OK, forget it, I don’t want to know! We only have
him until tonight, so I’ll just feed him a little more food, refill his water
bottle, pray that he gets picked up soon, and pray that I never accidentally Google
“dwarf sexing” again.
See you soon,
-Smidge
Copyright © 2013 Marc Schmatjen
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