I woke up brilliant the other morning.
Bright eyed and bushy-tailed.
I was going to be the fun mom! Throw caution to the wind! Not get upset when the cushions were pulled off of the couch and thrown across the room and into the kitchen because they were bombs and bombs need to be thrown away from the battlefield.
Okay, no, I didn’t go that far. Leave the damn cushions on the couch.
But this day I thought would be the perfect day to grab our new addition out of her cage and have a cute little cuddle.
Because all of the sweet pictures I had seen of people with their hamsters showed them holding their little creatures happily on their laps, or in their hands, with the tiny balls of fur lovingly cleaning their faces and telepathically shouting to the world how pleased they were with their new surroundings.
Come on out Hamsty!!
Sit with us.
Let me tell you right now that after I had been peed on, chewed on, ran all over, and told the child to stop screaming at the scared little rodent five hundred times I was ready to put away my cool mom hat and call it a day.
And then the whiskered stink bomb went right down my back and behind the bed.
My daughter and I laid flat on the floor watching a glob of fluff run back and forth, having the time of her life, under the bed where we couldn’t catch her.
At the 15 minute mark I was ready to leave the room and close the door. We didn’t really need that space anymore anyway, did we?
But once I convinced the child to stop screaming each time Hamsty came near us we were successful in catching her, I was successful in being peed on again, and the hamster was traumatized once more.
Do they have therapy for hamsters?
Maybe I can get a group rate if I lump myself and my cats in there too??