Keeping Queso

A friend of mine left town yesterday to head west for a wedding and had asked me several days ago if I would take care of her little hamster. Being a lover of all things rodent, I enthusiastically said yes! I counted down the days till Queso’s (and yes he really does look like a big hunk of Muenster) arrival, consulting with my friend everyday about his favorite fruits and preferred petting times.


I brought him home last night and allowed him to get settled before I began to play with him. I offered him a grape, which he readily accepted, removing a chunk with his incisors and then storing the rest away in the recess of his cheek pouch . Queso trotted around his play area, digging up his bedding here, running on his wheel there, and doing a general sniffing, obviously curious of his new surroundings. I then opened the cage and swiftly scooped him up with one hand and quickly held him tight with other. Hamsters like to feel secure, though I learned as a youngster that bulging eyes will result from loving a hamster to hard. Anyway, I just held Queso and pet his little face and rump until he and I got bored. I put him back and went about my business of the evening, which involved heating up some left over’s, watching some Melrose Place, and reading the Style section from last week’s Post.


I then said good night to Queso, knowing that he would soon begin his evening full of nocturnal hamster excitement, most of which involves running on the wheel, hording food, and marking one’s personal territory through urination. I looked forward to playing with Queso the following morning, thinking he would be anticipating some affection after a hard day’s night. I slept well, knowing that little Queso was a well kept critter.


The following morning I awoke early and hurried downstairs after getting ready. The sun had just risen and my house was still dim in the early blue light of dawn as I padded lightly to Queso’s cage. I turn the lights on to find Queso, sweet little innocent Queso, sitting on the green down jacket that I had strewn on the floor the day before. I shake my head for a moment and realize that yes I am awake, and that Queso had escaped (a “code green,” as it is called at the Zoo)! He just looked at me and stared, his eyes wide as saucers (well, at least as wide as pencil erasers. I mean, he is like 7 oz.). He put his front paws up and froze. I just sat starring as well, for fear that if I made a move he would run. It was a Kennedy-Khrushchev moment, and little Queso, I am happy to say, blinked first. I scooped him up and put him back in his home. I placed the heaviest dictionary I own on top of the cage and taped up all of the weakened areas of the enclosure. He just looked at me as I shook my finger at him and yelled “bad hamster!” over and over.


I watched as Queso picked up a blackberry (a piece of fruit, not a communication device) I had given to him just before bed, and place it in his pouch along with the grape that I assumed was still packed away there. I told him that was the last treat he was going to get so he better enjoy it. Queso just stared and went into his little red wood house. But who am I kidding; he has me wrapped around his tiny little pink paw. I wouldn’t be surprised if somehow I end up in the cage tonight and he gets my bed.


Five more days to go.