My girl’s really starting to build her case for the stupid dwarf hamster I wrote about earlier this week. I think she’s even started interviewing sitters for when we’re out of town later this summer. And I’m sure her friends’ mothers will be lining up to take our family rodent into their homes for a week!
Now, bear in mind, we have not yet given her an answer. So, in an effort to address one of my biggest concerns, she designed this overtly pro-hamster propaganda and slipped it to me this morning.
She makes a compelling argument but …
The last I checked THIS WAS AMERICA! So, in the interest of democracy and … insuring “domestic tranquility” … and something about the 8th amendment which protects against “cruel and unusual punishment” (against me!), I offer the following rebuttal:
(1) Cover hamster in pizza sauce. Where there’s pizza sauce, there’s usually also cheese … which, as we all know, has a Svengalian hold on me. I cannot be held responsible for my actions where cheese is involved. So, while she may have solved her feline problem, she has ultimately created another. By associating the rodent with cheese, there are no guarantees that her mother, on a particularly dietarily-deprived day, could not also pose a threat to the small
delicacy animal. Anyone know how many weight watchers points is in a hamster?
(2) Make hamster look scruffy and not delicious. As far as humans are concerned, this would seem an easy task (unless he’s covered in cheese … or possibly chocolate). As far as Milo is concerned, I can’t imagine that his feline tastes are so discerning that a little unkempt fur or stench of urine would hold him back. After all, I’ve seen him eat a roach.
(3) Close hamster room. Dear God, is she expecting us to dedicate an entire room to this smelly, little cotton ball? I don’t even have my own room. I wonder if I can convince her that a “room” is a rubbermaid container. Duh, with holes in the top. And kept in the toolshed.
(4) Close Milo in a room. Poor, poor, poor Milo. He’s put in his time and paid his dues around here for four years. Sure, we’ve all got a few scars that I treat with Mederma from when he was a kitten. And our furniture surfaces (also known as his landing strips) are all scratched up from his claws. And don’t get me started about the small fortune we pay to the vet for all of this check-ups, shots, flea prevention … where was I going with this one? Fine, whatever. Close him in a room. Duh, with holes in the door. And have it be the toolshed.
(5) Put too much food in Milo’s bowl so that he is always full. I see vomit. Loads and loads of cat vomit. And now I’m picturing the gluttony scene from the movie Seven. Gross. Wait, would this mean Brad Pitt would stop by to solve the mystery? Ooh, I’ve got an even better idea. If we can sub out “Brad Pitt” for “Johnny Depp” and “solve the mystery” for “mop up the cat vomit,” then we’ve got a deal!
I just know this won’t be the last pro-vermin appeal I receive. Sigh.