I went into the spare room last night, that we at Birdwatcher Towers grandly refer to sometimes as the “TV room”, and found the Munch (smallest BW) on the sofa bed with Moonshine (his hamster with the enormous testicles). I have nothing against Moonshine, indeed I have a soft spot for him and he often entertains me on my late night vigils at the computer desk by going round and round for me on his very noisy wheel. I draw the line at him running around our upholstery though. And for good reason.
Before the joyful day when I met Mrs BW, I spent six years living with a woman who not satisfied with the Birdwatcher as company and amusement on long dark winter evenings felt the need to surround herself with small furry animals. She had a hamster called Larry* that she used to let run around the house. I would come home from work and find that all the doors leading off the hall (all two of them) would be closed and the cry, “don’t come in Larry’s running around” would be what greeted me. I would have to wait in the hall or go upstairs until f***ing Larry had finished running around, and I was allowed the run of our house. There was a funny side. The hamster would run up and down the bottom of the French windows, presumably trying to find a way out. The cat (banished to the outside for obvious reasons) would periodically throw itself with some violence against the outside of the window in an effort to get in at Larry. How tempted was I to form a temporary alliance with the cat and help it in its quest!
The relationship finally came off the rails and I came back one Sunday night, from a satisfying weekend in Bath, and noticed that the cat had gone. Then realised that the girlfriend had gone to and taken most of her clothes. She kindly let me know about a week later by phone just in case I hadn’t managed to work it out for myself. I did the decent thing and let her keep the cat and settled into a comfortable life of work, chess, pub and occasional weekend trips to Bath (to watch the rugby)
It was a couple of weeks later, I was rooting though the wardrobe trying to find a decent pair of trousers. I noticed that there were piles of material on the floor. I investigated further. There were teeth marks and signs of chewing on all my best pairs. Someone had let Larry “run around” my wardrobe, and the little bastard had chewed the bottoms of my trouser legs. I have heard about chaps having their suits and shirts cut up into pieces by wives and girlfriends seeking revenge but setting a small furry rodent to do the damage struck me as a bit below the belt, especially as I had not done anything above or below the belt to justify it.
So Moonshine had better watch out. The first sign of chewed trouser leg and there will be trouble.
* She got Larry as a sort of third choice. First on her list was a Spider. A big one. She even took me down to the pet shop to show me. Me that goes faint and panics at an ordinary house spider. The man picked it up and asked me if I wanted to stroke it. He guessed right from my body language that I didn’t. Then it was a snake. I think I bought the bloody hamster for her in the end. In fact I agreed that she could have two, more if she wanted. Women! Too devious by half.