A Hamster’s Demise
Hillary went apeshit every single night, like fitness fanatic Jamie Eason. She couldn’t have been more than six months old. She typically hid in the bathroom entryway, curled in a fetal position under the mounds of tissue. The locale of her cage was a mystery. Why wasn't she in Stella's bedroom, the livingroom, or the brightest room in the house - the kitchen? I never did get a straight answer. Surely it wasn't placed on the floor to encourage the family cat, Mia, to torture her?
I couldn't help myself, I’d have to poke a finger in the fluffy bedding piles just to be sure Hillary was still there, breathing soundly. I tend to take out any little critter, flip them over on their backs to tickle them, pester them into a submission of love. Since Hilary is nocturnal, she squirms under my fingertips, willing me to stop sending kisses in the direction of her face. She had a mostly white body with splotches of tan here and there. Smaller than most hamsters, she was extra delicious.
Despite the fact that Mike, the father of the family told me Hillary’s “fine” and I don’t need to feed her, just pay attention to the dog, Bagel, and Mia, the cat, I seek the hamster out anyway. I toss a few carrot bits in her cage to entice her to run around, fill her dry food bowl, clean and refresh the water bottle, wrestle love into her warm fur, and coo at her. I replay my morning chores, what I intend to do that afternoon and how much I love her. The important stuff.
One morning, after not caring for these particular pets in awhile, I yank open the cage to find a horror show going on. One of Hillary’s eyes is bulging out of it’s socket, like a Bubble-Eye Goldfish. It’s caked over, as though super dry, crusty, with surely days of neglect. I gasp and immediately text M. “When was the last time you took a look at Hillary?” I ask, squelching the urge to bellow in CAPS. "Oh, Stella fed her this morning before we left." Wow.
How on earth could they NOT have noticed the goldfish resemblance? “Her eye is swollen shut so I’m going to clean her up and watch her closely while you’re gone.” He sends the “OK” sign in a nonchalant tone. I primp and preen Hillary’s one good eye, as well as the bad one, assuming whatever was going on would effect both eyes.
What could be the culprit of this symptom? The litter is the same, no change in food that I can tell, no other rodent in the cage to have attacked her in the night, no sharp edges or broken toy pieces to scrape her eye…what could it be? I doubt Mia could get ahold of her by the eyeball....so strange.
Eventually, after the long weekend of medical attention, Hillary could use the “bad” eye, or so I assume. Hard to display an eye chart for a hamster patient. I monitor her four times a day, soaking the eye in warm water with a sterile gauze pad, cleaned it and flattening the long hair away from both her eyeballs. She seemed to blink in apology for needing so much attention. I wooed and cuddled her, much to her chagrin. The eye looks normal, so I relax.
Before the family returned, I wrote a lengthy note of care, left a stack of supplies on top of her cage and a fresh bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Not a word of thanks or apology. Only indifference. When I inquired about Hillary the following week, M and the kids just declare "She's fine." Sometimes an apathetic shrug accompanied the update.
A few weeks later, I took care of M’s pets again. I was an easy prey to good deeds, not accepting any money for attending to Bagel, Mia, and Hillary’s needs.
Didn't see hide nor hair of any of the supplies in the vicinity of the hamster cage when I entered the hallway.
Of course, I immediately took Hillary out of her sanctuary. The minute I got a look at her little face, I screamed in angst. Scared the crap out of the dog and cat audience. Not one but BOTH eyes were swollen, glued shut with crud. She was staggering around the cage, like a drunken teen at a frat party. Her food dish, full to the brim was untouched from the day before, possibly the span of weeks I wasn't in charge of her care. The water bottle was dry as a tapped well. Not a huge surprise, if I really think about it.
I was stricken. Aghast. Furious. Tormented. This little rodent was obviously suffering. Her nose was caked with tissue, bedding she couldn’t remove or didn’t care to. She was so thin when I picked her up, sides sunken. Hillary's fur carried a dull sheen of injustice.
The only thing to do was put her out of her misery. If there was a vet in town who handled rodent care, I wouldn't have taken her in, yet I knew she was too far gone.
I had experience, from my pet store days, as to the fastest and most efficient way to put her to her death. A mixture of baking soda and hydrogen peroxide, placed in a bowl in an airtight container did the trick in minutes.
Before I claimed her life, I called M. Told him of my plan and he just said,
“Alright. Fine”
“Do you want me to save the body for your daughter to say goodbye?”
“No. I’ll just tell her.”
I said a little prayer especially for sweet Hillary, and all of the little creatures who’d been neglected. Told her I was sorry for this life of suffering. Asked her for forgiveness and let her go.
Work hard at accepting I may not know the whole of the story. And to hold my tongue if a Hillary lookalike appears in Hillary's old cage.
Do you have a save-the-day rodent story for me? Do tell!