Losing a pet is really hard. Losing someone else's pet is even harder. I had the pleasure to hamster sit once again for my favorite furry rodent, Meester Queso, while his parents were away for Christmas. My family always looks forward to visits from the friendly fellow, and this time was no exception. I brought him home and we played and played. I fed him peanuts and craisins. My dad patted his little kepi. My mom sang to him. My sister held him snugly in a clean white sock. I frolicked with him in the den. Well, I frolicked. Queso just ran back and forth happily on the couch, exploring the various dark crevasses that lead to the uncharted depths of the sofa cushions.
About 8 days into his visit, something changed. His disposition seemed to have shifted from cherubic to downright crabby. But a day or so later, Queso was back to his bubbly cheesy little self. However, last night, after scooping him up and feeling the absence of the usual warmth emitted by his flaxen fluffy body, I began to panic. I gently placed him back down into his saw dust lair and he began to wobble. As he attempted to take the first of three steps into his little wooden house, he fell over onto his back. I looked down at him, horrified by the sudden realization of how sick he was. I quickly righted Queso, and he managed to make it to his tiny sanctuary. I have not seen him since, nor have I heard the rustlings of that sweet creature in his nest.
The last time I experienced the death of a pet was when my hamster Costello died. I was 15 and had a rep in high school for being really in to hamsters (not that way pervs, I just have always liked animals. And Bob Dylan, but I digress). Mrs. Stork, my favorite social studies teacher, even gave me a card when she saw how upset I was over the death of Costello, having teared up during the class debate over the role of local vs. state and federal jurisdiction.
Ten years later, the sadness of losing a hammie is still intense, this time punctuated by the fact that at 6:00pm, after I return home from work, I have to then return Queso’s cage, sans Queso (or at least Queso’s soul), to his parents.
However, since Queso's death has not yet been confirmed, please keep him in your tiny thoughts and little paw prayers.
