Ohmigod, the hamster escaped. The hamster that my third grader has wanted for two years and was finally old enough to get. The hamster that made it through a brief bout of “the runs” that can be fatal for hamsters, but survived perhaps due to my sheer need for her to be okay. This morning we found that she had gotten out of a less-than-perfectly closed skycap viewing area. She must have worked and worked on unscrewing that thing. But, to reference Clemency Pogue and the Hobgoblin Proxy, “There was a principle at work here, an equal and opposite reaction for every action. The jar [top] was unscrewed, and Kenn [I] was quite the opposite.”
I’m physically sick about this. (Yes, Kelly, my stomach lurched and hasn’t stopped yet.) I’ve set out my hamster traps. I’ve prayed to Saint Anthony (“Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony, please come around. Something is lost that needs to be found.”) and I’m not even Catholic. I’m planning on staying up tonight when these little guys are active to see if I can catch her then. In the meantime, I’m fighting my anxiety and sicky stomach and cleaning up every place I can to search for a little sleeping Honey hamster. The problem is that the place is a mess, and therefore there are tons of places a little hamster could hide, and that fact is just making me feel sicker and more anxious.
Please send me your good hamster-finding energy. And if you have any good tricks, pass them along.