This may come as a shock to some of you but there are times when I have no idea what in the world to write about on this blog. Considering how OFTEN I post on here, I’m sure this is incredibly shocking news. With the frequency of my posts, you’d think the ideas are flowing out of me day and night.
Since all of that was clearly sarcasm and I never post frequently on this blog, I’ve decided to change things up a bit by bringing you a new segment I like to call: Throwback Thursday.
I never actually participate in Throwback Thursday on social media. (#TBT for all you cool kids!) I went through an awkward stage from ages 5 to 25. No one wants to see pics of me when I was younger. But stories of a ridiculous childhood can be hilarious and make for fantastic blog posts. That’s why I bring to you the first in my Throwback Thursday series: My disastrous history with pet hamsters.
Oh Emma Watson, I have never related to you so much before. I have had three pet hamsters in my lifetime and they have all died tragic deaths. One was murdered and the other two committed suicide.
I’m a horrible person and cannot actually remember the names of my pet hamsters. Maybe that’s why they killed themselves. They’d rather be dead than have me as their owner. Hamster #1 was the first one to kill himself.
I was good to Hamster #1. I played with him after school every day. He had a nice big cage with a wheel which was perfect for when he wanted to have fun and lose a little weight. He even got one of those clear plastic balls he could roll around the house in. This bastard had everything a little hamster could want but it just wasn’t good enough.
Hamster #1 loved his little hamster wheel. He would play it in at all hours. At least, I always thought he played on it cause he loved it. In reality, he was planning his escape. His escape from this world and the overzealous love of an eight-year-old enjoying their first pet. I woke up one morning to find Hamster #1 lying next to the hamster wheel with a broken neck. Over twenty years later and I still remember the look of fear on his dead face. I live with that image to this day.
My precious parents tried to convince me that he must have fallen off the hamster wheel while it was still turning and got stuck. But I knew better. This bastard was preparing for this all along. He trained on that hamster wheel we lovingly placed in his cage to see how fast he could go. Once he hit maximum speed, he dove head first into that metal hamster wheel of doom! No one will ever be able to convince me it happened any other way.
You’d think that after seeing one hamster murder itself, I’d be done. You’d think wrong. In fact, after that debacle, I got two more hamsters. I thought if only Hamster #1 had a friend maybe he wouldn’t have killed himself.
Enter Hamster #2 and Hamster #3. (I’m still an evil bastard who cannot remember their names.) And it was a horrible disaster from the very beginning. This was no match made in heaven. They absolutely hated one another. Apparently they thought their clear glass cage was a steel cage set for no-holds-barred fights. Several times we caught them in a bloody mess after fighting.
A normal family would have bought a second cage and called it day. Easy solution! I don’t have a normal family. Our solution? Take a giant textbook and place it in the middle of the cage to separate these wannabe MMA hamsters.
The textbook divider worked for a little bit, until it didn’t anymore. One night I was at my friend’s house getting ready to enjoy a sleepover when I got a devastating call from my father. Apparently someone, in their haste to separate the dueling monsters, smashed Hamster #2 with the book. I wish I were kidding. Someone in my family, someone that I trusted, murdered Hamster #2 in cold blood. To this day no one in my family has ever come clean but I think I know who it is. I bet it was my older sister. She’s my favorite person in the world now but when we were younger, she was pure evil. (Maybe I’ll tell you some horror stories of having an older sister in the next edition of TBT.)
So the murder of Hamster #2 goes down as one of the country’s greatest unsolved mysteries and it left me with just Hamster #3. You’d think that after witnessing her arch-nemesis being murdered, she’d be happy. You’d think she’d be dancing around like the munchkins singing “Ding Dong the witch is dead.” Apparently she wasn’t happy. Maybe she was angry that she wasn’t the one who got to do the killing.
So Hamster #3 becomes the second hamster I own to murder itself. I come home from school so excited to play with my one hamster that hasn’t tragically died yet, only to see her sound asleep in the corner of her cage. Being the nice pet owner that I am, I let her sleep. Several hours pass and I think either my hamster has turned into Rip Van Winkle or something is up.
I tap the glass and nothing happens. In my heart, I knew she was dead. That’s the fate of the hamsters in my world. But I wasn’t brave enough to find it out for myself. I call my dad over to investigate. He turns poor little Hamster #3 over and we find a wood chip buried deep inside her stomach. The wood chips I lovingly laid on the bottom of the cage so she’d have a comfy place to sleep were used as a weapon to kill. Once again my parents tried to convince me that this was all an accident. She was just trying to get comfortable when one of those killer wood chips plowed into her. Freak accident. But I knew better. One freak accident, maybe. But after three dead hamsters, I was done.
I didn’t get another hamster after that. I couldn’t do it. It was pretty obvious that I was cursed to live out the rest of my days hamster-less. Future children (if I ever have you) please never ask for a hamster. The answer is no cause I shudder to think what new ways these hamsters would find to commit suicide.