Dear Reader,
I am a Hamster of Delicate Sensitivities, and I am quite emotionally wrung out.
A few days ago, Hun said: "I think I'd better make an appointment to get Shirley's teeth clipped."
I was a little anxious about what he could mean, but since no one mentioned my teeth again, I forgot about it. Then very early today, while it was still light out, I was roused from my nap and shut up in a box with clear walls, and Hun said, "We're going to the vet, Shirley." As if that told me anything.
Then he took me away, bumpety-bump, and put my box down in a strange place. Once again I heard the roaring and felt the trembling I had experienced when we left the Pet Shop.
Then came more bumpety-bump, and Hun sat down. Through the clear walls of my prison, I saw a Cat who mewed a few scurrilous remarks. Nasty sneaking creature! I told her she was lucky I was boxed up, or I would have bitten through her tail. She yowled back...well, never mind, you know how low the mind of a Cat is.
At first I wondered if we were in new part of the Pet Shop. I later decided that we weren't. For your information, a Vet is a place inhabited by an especially rude Pet. I found this out when, after a while, Hun carried me from the place with the Cat and then set my box down on a kind of shiny floor. A pair of unfamiliar paws picked me up.
Now, I must make a shamed confession. I am not the perfect beauty I once was. Between napping in a narrow cubbyhole and scenting the objects around me, especially after one of Sweetie's cleanings, I have rubbed bald spots on my rump. This is a sensitive matter for me, and I don't care to have it mentioned. However, the strange Pet unabashedly called attention to my rear and remarked that I might have mites. Mites! Moi! Reader, I bit him.
Then I screamed with rage - and couldn't stop screaming. (Incidentally, I found that it doesn't hurt to have your teeth clipped, but I wriggled uncooperatively as a matter of principle.) Also, perhaps in retaliation for the bite, the rude stranger said I weighed 190 grams, which is an absolute untruth. I could not possibly weigh more than 160 - and anyway, I am big-boned.
I think it was then that I realized that what I had just done must have been Old Fingerbiter's crime. I lost my head. I began to squarwk at the top of my lungs, "Please don't take me back to the Pet Shop, I promise never to bite again."
I am used to having my own large, lovely space now and daily deliveries of delicacies all to myself. The thought of sleeping in cramped quarters, eating only lab blocks, and sleeping with someone's foot in my face was unbearable! I squarked out my pleas while Hun lingered in the Cat place. I squarked as we left the Vet. I squarked as we began to rumble and roar again. In short, I made my passionate pleas until I was exhausted and out of breath. My eloquence obviously made an impression, for Hun set me down in my own home again.
I don't think one should be held to promises made under duress.
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