(my hamster)

I don't know how many times I've tried to explain to people the love a person can have for a hamster. They don't understand...they cuddle their kitties and pet their puppies and they cry when they pass away, but god forbid I actually profess affection for a rodent. I guess through the eyes of someone raised in normalcy it is strange, but it makes perfect sense to me.

I was never allowed to have any sort of large pet when I was growing up. A goldfish once, but it died. My parents blamed the creature's demise on me, a simple 5 year old. That hurt. I love animals, perhaps more than those that are raised with them. Whenever I encountered an animal, wild or tame, I always proceeded in a kind and careful manner. My parents used this death (of which I grow more sure of everyday was a seedy plan tailored to fit their wishes...) to prevent further pet ownership.

But I was persistant. Every Christmas after that I would ask for a random animal and the proper accessories. Soon, they broke down. The hamsters in my third-grade classroom made sweet rodent love and the female gave birth a few weeks before Christmas. My parents bought me a cage and I picked out a hammy all for my own.

(what joy...)

She looked just like her mother. Being the pretentiously wordy child that I was, I named her Dejà vu. I had friends throughout my elementary school years, but I liked Dejà the best. I would come home everyday and she would wake up, eager to play. I taught her hamstery tricks--how to "kiss", walking across the floor on a raised yardstick, and coming when I called her. She liked the theme song to "Darkwing Duck." I don't know why I remember that. Some things seem so unimportant at the time, but when you lose them they become all that matters.

Hamsters are not the Methuselas of the animal kingdom. The average lifespan for the sweet things is a paltry 2 years. Dejà lived to be 3 years old, a ripe old age for hamsters. I didn't know I had loved her until I had to put her to sleep. We buried her in the backyard, in a nice little depression guarded by an old tree. My sister, the only person who really knew little Dejà, was my only comforter, and she was entrenched in sorrow herself.

People laughed when I told them she had died. They laughed. I think this is the point where I realized I was drastically different from the majority of humans...all life, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant it seems, is, to me, something infinitely beautiful and should never be treated as disposable. They made up stories about me murdering her and everytime I heard them I wanted to scream and cry and do all sorts of things that they, in their plastic shells of humanity, would never be moved so violently to do.

I survived. Somehow. My parents suggested getting another hamster to ease the pain, but I couldn't. I didn't want to taint her memory like that. I did unexpectantly came upon Garth, a rabbit, and took him into my heart. Another story, though... To stay on track, I'll fast-forward through the years to 1999.

By then, people had come to accept me and all my eccentricities, or at least tolerate them. Some even understood my love for hamsters through their various passions which were also deemed strange. Dejà's brief and beautiful life had never faded from my mind, but I knew it was time to move on. I began an extensive research for hamster knowledge with the intent to get another hamster and I soon welcomed little Ringo into my home. He was the first hamster I picked up out of the pet store aquarium and it was then I knew we was meant for me. It had been too long since I had felt a small life in my hands, nervously pawing at my palm.

(Ringo...yes, his full name is Ringo Starr...the beatles are awesome...)

Sometimes I get so scared when I hold him in my hands. I remember back to when I used to hold Dejà...I'm still in shock that I hold a separate life within my grasp, that I could easily end it if I so desired. Occasionally it's too much and I have to set him down. I watch him scuttle away, a speck of divine vicarity contrasted against the dead carpet, and I can't help but feel in love.

Some things, some people, are here on this planet only for a little while. Within their shortened stay, however, they can inspire greatness and provide comfort. When they leave it's like that's the way it's supposed to be...like this world, so full of negativity and hatred, could never truely be home to such marvelous beings. Or at least that's the way I like to think of it...

I love you, Ringo.