Bearing Up Under Stress

If we know each other in “real life” please do not read the rest of this post. Because if you read the following story and I swear you to secrecy, you may have the best intentions, but something could go awry. You could see Margaret and me in the grocery store or at Taco Bell and instead of remembering NOT to talk about her hamster, you might see her and then get hamster on the brain. Suddenly, we’ll be chatting about hamster wheels and hamster treats, and her hamster named Bear.

Or, like me, you could get the urge to blurt out “Hamster!” as soon as you see us, just because it’s forbidden, the way I used to want to hurl my purse over a rickety bridge near my grandparents’ house every darn time I crossed over it. And I would tell myself, “I will not think of hurling my purse over the edge this time,” but then I’d get to the bridge and all I could think of was “Purse! Purse! Throw the purse!” I know I'm not alone in this, right?

So if we know each other in real life, and if the purse story hasn’t freaked you out so much that you wish to "unknow" me, please read no further.

Ok? Great.

So, I decided to clean Margaret’s pet hamster’s cage for her as a love gift. This is along the same lines as when my mother would approach me, hands outstretched, to collect my contact lenses from me and give them their monthly enzyme treatment, because although I was fully capable of doing it myself, she wanted to do something for me.

 

So, feeling virtuous and generous, I decided to clean the cage while Margaret and Tim were at the neighbors’ house. I popped “Bear” into his plastic ball and set about cleaning the cage until it sparkled. Then I got distracted and started packing some more boxes and taping them up. Then I got myself some tea. Perhaps I cruised Facebook. Perhaps.

When I remembered what I’d been doing, I hustled back upstairs to get Bear. My heart sank. All I saw was an empty yellow ball. Empty! My eyes scanned Jack’s room where Bear had been rolling so happily just moments (minutes? A half hour? Days?) before. I felt panic grip my chest.

We cannot lose Bear.

He has been such a bright spot in our lives.  I’m already praying he far outlives his life expectancy. My sister bought him for Margaret a few days after Jack’s accident. He was four months old, and that was almost two years ago. Hamsters live 2-2.5 years. Oh my. He seems pretty spry, and with the exception of his uh, male undercarriage, growing exceedingly large, he looks about how he did when we got him.

Anyway, I started scouring the room in a panic. I couldn’t think straight. I looked at the weird 3 inch gap under the door that a freakin’ hedge hog could probably squeeze through. I thought of the chaos all over the house, from the bedrooms down to the basement. If Bear found a cozy box to crawl into, and I taped him in there, what kind of surprise would we find when we moved in a week or so? Or, what if we didn’t find ever find him? What if the new owners, sensing a rodent on the loose, set out a mousetrap and? And? Did I tell you they have two cats? Or what if Shadow the dog had already gulped him down in one bite while I’d been enjoying my tea? Did she look full? Did she look guiltily satisfied?

I wasn’t sure how to start looking, because I had Shadow in her usual location-- up my skirt. Everywhere I looked, she looked too. If I tried to shut her up in another room so I could search more quickly, what if I shut her up with Bear?

So I grabbed Shadow by the collar and dragged her to each pile of boxes, clothes and the stacks of crumpled packing paper. Even in his chubby state, I knew Bear could probably run fast and that my time was running out. I grabbed the phone and called Tim and told him to come help me. I forbade him to tell Margaret what was going on.

He calmly walked in the room and said everything was going to be fine.

Did he not see the boxes everywhere? The air vents of death? The dresser drawers? Did he not know that with both a move and middle school looming, we do not need a dead hamster?

We moved Jack’s bed away from the wall. Would we find him driving a toy car or running through a Lego scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark? No dice.

Tim leaned under Jack’s dresser. “I see him. He’s fine.” And he was.

Thank you, Jesus. Yes, I’d prayed about a hamster. In fact, I have no qualms if we ALL pray that Bear sets a hamster longevity record.

I haven’t told Margaret anything, and I’m thinking it’s in my best interest not to.

I just wish I didn’t want to blurt out, “HAMSTER!” every time I saw her.