Hamster

Hamster

I remember the day I turned into a hamster. One day, unannounced, it just happened. It wasn’t even my birthday. That morning, I remember how the sun broke through the tiny cracks in my blinds and shone particularly brightly on my closed lids. I remained still for a few moments, breathing quietly, relishing this part of my day. Soon after I would have to walk down to the little bathroom down the hall, reluctantly removing my warm sleeping clothes and stepping half-blind into the shower (I don’t really open my eyes all the way until the water hits me). Mom makes us take showers, except for my little brother Jimmy, who only runs the water for ten minutes and comes out with a towel wrapped around him.

I could hear the robins and mourning doves outside my window, and it was at this point that I noticed a strange sensation. It’s not as if it happened suddenly, but that I had noticed it suddenly. It was not unlike lying on a sheepskin, or perhaps a mink coat. I considered this silently. It wasn’t the only thing that was different. I felt...fat. Well, not fat so much as rounder, softer. Is it possible to feel rounder? There is no other way to describe it. Also, something was tickling me, like a stiff piece of grass. I kept my eyes closed a moment longer, trying to decide whether I was still dreaming. The sun grew hotter, and I began to feel more and more certain that I was definitely not dreaming. I opened my eyes slowly through the glowing sun and allowed the room to come into focus all around me. The old, wooden desk by the closet, yes, that’s right; the bureau by my door, that’s right; the vanity, right where it’s supposed to be; my small paws sticking out from underneath the bed sheets, no, that’s definitely not right! My solid, fur-covered body bulged in front of me, halfway curled into a tight ball. My short tail pulled in close to my body and my stocky little legs wrapped around me. I looked down at my front paws to see what had been tickling me. Oh, it was just my whiskers. My entire body was covered in soft, short fur, all golden in color except for my pudgy belly, which was creamy white.

How could this have happened? I think to myself, turning the issue over in my mind. I had things to do! This certainly wasn’t one of them. But really—how could this have happened? Magic? Bad Chinese? The sun shone brighter and lit up the room. I decided there was no logical explanation and rolled over onto my belly. I glanced down at the floor, which seemed a great distance higher than I had left it last night. I figured that if I could somehow get to my mom’s room she would be able to sort all of this out. After all, I didn’t have any ideas.

I crawled awkwardly across the sheets, moving my short legs slowly as I became accustomed to working four legs instead of two. It was surprisingly easy, and I felt light, almost weightless. I climbed with some effort onto the flowered comforter, inching my way towards the edge of the bed. I looked down. Unfortunately, I have always been afraid of heights and this was no exception. The bottom half of the comforter stretched lazily off of the bed and onto the floor, its misplacement probably the result of my incessant nighttime rolling. I looked down at the floor again, struggling to focus my eyes to see how far it really was, my depth perception seeming strangely out of tune. I suppose hamsters don’t have very good eyesight (that would explain why they jump off of tables so much). I inched forward closer and closer, trying to grip with my claws as I began sliding down. It was much steeper than I expected. I hit the ground hard and my round little body rolled wildly for a moment before I got it back under control.

I moved across the floor, quicker now, letting my legs move more on instinct instead of trying to place each one, flattening a little as I picked up speed. Once I was under the bed I rested a moment, my heart thumping. Strangely enough, I had a sudden urge to clean my fur, and before I knew it I was licking my paws and running them rapidly over my face and whiskers, scrubbing especially behind the ears. I finished with the little spaces between my toes. Surprising, considering I usually had to be dragged into the shower...

At this point, I heard a noise, a quite peculiar noise. Like a rasping or a grating sound; a steady scratching. Scratching? My ears twisted forward. The door slowly, silently opened, and Buster, our tabby cat, walked through stalking his way across the room. At this point, I would like to mention the downside to getting a cat, one that many people may not realize: cats eat hamsters. And I, being a hamster, became suddenly and completely terrified. If he noticed me, that would be the end. Fortunately, our cat has a terrible sense of smell. Otherwise, within seconds his scheming little face could pop up next to the comforter as he eyed me with that look only cats get: is this thing worth my time? I didn’t give him a chance to even think about it before I scurried away as fast as my legs would carry me. I went right for the bedside table, which had a space from its bottom to the floor only big enough for my flattened body to fit under. I remained under there while Buster, his attention caught by my sudden dash, tried his best to get a paw under, growling with frustration.

Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open and Jimmy, my stinky little brother (who, by the way, never washes his hair and rarely changes his clothes) tromped in.

“Ok, Chrissy, time to get up!” He hollered out at me. Jimmy was never afraid of being unabashedly loud at seven in the morning.
He glanced down at my rumpled bed, minus my sleeping body, and walked curiously over to it. He was wearing his ratty yellow-and-black soccer shirt, the one he always wears in the summer, and sagging sweatpants with holes in their knees.

“Chrissy?”

Buster left me momentarily and leaped up onto the bed, arching his back and meowing for attention. When Jimmy ignored him, rummaging through my closet, he pounced back over to the nightstand and resumed his attack.

“What is it, kitty?” Jimmy tromped over to the table and peeked under it. “Whaddaya got there?”

For once, my brother proved himself useful by discovering me under the table. Otherwise I would have been left all alone with Buster again. His face lit up with excitement and, hopefully, recognition. I studied his face. Nope, no recognition at all.

“Cool!” He stuck his pudgy hand in at me, with no fear at all of what could happen. I resisted the urge to sink my teeth in. After all, Jimmy was better than the cat, wasn't he?

He gripped me firmly and I struggled as he lifted me off the ground, examining me closely. His hands were sticky and smelled like Froot Loops. I held my breath and squirmed, trying to wriggle out of his death-grip. He smiled mischievously...

###

For the next few days, I became accustomed to my new schedule. Not much else I could do, being in a 20-gallon tank and all. I wake up at about ten o’clock at night, raid my food hoard, get a drink from my water bottle, dig around a little, fix my nest, and run in my wheel for about five hours. Sounds great, huh? But it’s really not that bad. There are a lot of benefits to being a hamster. No more school, no more chores. I have a little ramp that leads out of my cage so I can explore around whenever I want, as long as Buster’s outside. I can still read, too, although it’s becoming more and more difficult these days. I like being a hamster. After all, what other choice do I have?