teresanielsenhayden
Arthur & I
Memorial, originally posted at Hamster House, www.hamsterhouse.com/forum/index.php?action=printpage;top...
Title: Re: Hamster Memorial
Post by: TNH on Mar 10, 2006 10:30:36 AM
Remembering Arthur, the Hamster of Consolation (part I)
Arthur was a teddy bear Syrian. He originally belonged to Jim Macdonald, who loves hamsters but can't have them because his wife Doyle loves cats.
When Jim's elderly mother became sick, he moved in with her for the duration, so he could take care of her. That's when he got Arthur, and Arthur got his name. They became good friends.
Jim's mother died sooner than expected. That's when Arthur came to live with me. I'd had hamsters when I was young, but hadn't had pets since I married because my husband is allergic to fur. For a while Arthur lived in my office in the basement, but during a winter cold snap I moved him upstairs so he'd be warm. My husband's allergies weren't triggered, so Arthur's cage remained at center stage in our living room for the rest of his life.
He grew to be the biggest Syrian I've ever seen. For a while he was moping and behaving erratically, until we realized he was too big to comfortably pass through habitrail tubes. We got him a big four-level wire mesh cage. He loved it.
Arthur led a happy and fulfilling life: sleeping, grooming, wheedling snacks, getting petted, plotting escapes, and running around in his hamsterball. He was a demon hamsterball runner. Some nights he'd do five, six, seven circuits of the dining table at top speed, with no collisions. We had to replace his hamsterballs every couple of months because they'd pick up so many surface scratches that he couldn't see where he was going.
Another major activity was making sure that everything in his cage was arranged exactly right. He'd sulk if you moved his stuff. My friend Sharyn November decided that since Arthur's chief interests were grooming, flirting, interior decoration, and throwing dramatic scenes, he had to be a metrosexual.
It's true that Arthur was a complete drama queen. His "You have to let me out!" routine in the evenings started with his "Oh my goodness, it has come to my attention that I'm in a cage" act: sniffing the bars, looking a little worried, sniffing some more, then posing with one paw delicately placed on the bars, looking like he'd been painted by Fragonard. If that didn't work, he'd move a few inches and try it again from a different angle. If that still didn't work, he'd progress to gnawing on the bars in various dramatic postures, sometimes climbing halfway up the walls. When he still had the Crittertail cage, his grand finale was to leap up and grab hold of his cage door with all four paws, shaking it with all his might: sort of a "You can't keep me in here, copper!" number.
We kept the door fastened with a binder clip. Sometimes I'd quietly remove the clip when Arthur was working up to his finale, and the door would pop open in mid-shake. Since he'd always have his front teeth hooked over the cage bar just above the door, he'd suddenly be hanging by his teeth in midair, flailing wildly with all four paws. I wish I'd gotten that on video.
Sometimes I'd unclip the door earlier in the evening so that Arthur could "escape" and run around on top of my sideboard. I figured a hamser who doesn't escape once in a while can't be truly happy.
Arthur slowed down as he got older. Some nights he'd skip the evening theatrics entirely, and just poke around quietly. Then, earlier this year, he barely came out for two nights running. That worried me. I lifted the top off his cage and looked under his igloo. Arthur stood up, but he was shaky and off-balance. Not good. I gave him water out of a squeeze bottle, and he stood up on his hind legs with his mouth wide open: obviously dehydrated. Also, still a drama queen.
I gave him as much water as he'd take, fed him his favorite snack of cold cooked green peas, and put him back to bed. I kept a close eye on him as I nursed him through the next few days, giving him water and soft foods, petting him gently, keeping him warm, and mostly just letting him sleep. He wasn't miserable, but he just got weaker and weaker. Under his mass of fluffy fur I could suddenly feel each rib and vertebra.
When I checked in on him the morning of his last day, he was curled up in a ball, and smelled bad. His paws were dirty, so I gently cleaned them with warm water and a cotton swab. Arthur hated being dirty. Eventually he uncurled enough for me to see the problem. He'd had diarrhea during the night, but he couldn't move, so there was a big ball of semi-soft hamsterpoo stuck in his belly fur. I didn't bathe him, just stuck the affected area under running warm water until the mess washed away, then bundled him into a lightweight towel to keep him warm while he got dry.
He was happier after that. I held him cupped in my hand up against my chest to keep him warm, gave him some water, and fed him a few more peas because he was too weak to bite into a piece of half-ripe avocado. Then he curled up and fell asleep in my hand. We sat that way for a long time. I could feel him passing in and out of dreams. You know how dogs run in their dreams? Hamsters gnaw.
Eventually I had to go to bed myself, so I tucked him up in his nesting material and covered him with his igloo. I thought he'd go right to sleep. Instead he walked out, slowly climbed up the ramp to his lounging spot on the second level (falling asleep twice en route), drank a little water from one of his bottles, looked out, sniffing, from the two nearest corners, then slowly plodded back down the ramp (falling asleep once more en route), and so back into his igloo.
I was a coward. Next morning, I asked my husband whether he could be the one to check on Arthur. I stood in the next room, listening, while he lifted off the top of the cage, then the igloo. Then he cried out in grief, and I knew that Arthur was dead.
He was the best of good hamsters, sweet-tempered and friendly, with a personality many times bigger than his furry little bod. If hamsters have immortal souls -- not an answerable question -- I hope he's in a place where he gets to make daring escapes every night; where there's an unending supply of peas, avocados, sunflower seeds, yuppie salad greens, and leftover Chinese takeout rice; and where he always has a loving and appreciative audience to play to.
Arthur & I
Memorial, originally posted at Hamster House, www.hamsterhouse.com/forum/index.php?action=printpage;top...
Title: Re: Hamster Memorial
Post by: TNH on Mar 10, 2006 10:30:36 AM
Remembering Arthur, the Hamster of Consolation (part I)
Arthur was a teddy bear Syrian. He originally belonged to Jim Macdonald, who loves hamsters but can't have them because his wife Doyle loves cats.
When Jim's elderly mother became sick, he moved in with her for the duration, so he could take care of her. That's when he got Arthur, and Arthur got his name. They became good friends.
Jim's mother died sooner than expected. That's when Arthur came to live with me. I'd had hamsters when I was young, but hadn't had pets since I married because my husband is allergic to fur. For a while Arthur lived in my office in the basement, but during a winter cold snap I moved him upstairs so he'd be warm. My husband's allergies weren't triggered, so Arthur's cage remained at center stage in our living room for the rest of his life.
He grew to be the biggest Syrian I've ever seen. For a while he was moping and behaving erratically, until we realized he was too big to comfortably pass through habitrail tubes. We got him a big four-level wire mesh cage. He loved it.
Arthur led a happy and fulfilling life: sleeping, grooming, wheedling snacks, getting petted, plotting escapes, and running around in his hamsterball. He was a demon hamsterball runner. Some nights he'd do five, six, seven circuits of the dining table at top speed, with no collisions. We had to replace his hamsterballs every couple of months because they'd pick up so many surface scratches that he couldn't see where he was going.
Another major activity was making sure that everything in his cage was arranged exactly right. He'd sulk if you moved his stuff. My friend Sharyn November decided that since Arthur's chief interests were grooming, flirting, interior decoration, and throwing dramatic scenes, he had to be a metrosexual.
It's true that Arthur was a complete drama queen. His "You have to let me out!" routine in the evenings started with his "Oh my goodness, it has come to my attention that I'm in a cage" act: sniffing the bars, looking a little worried, sniffing some more, then posing with one paw delicately placed on the bars, looking like he'd been painted by Fragonard. If that didn't work, he'd move a few inches and try it again from a different angle. If that still didn't work, he'd progress to gnawing on the bars in various dramatic postures, sometimes climbing halfway up the walls. When he still had the Crittertail cage, his grand finale was to leap up and grab hold of his cage door with all four paws, shaking it with all his might: sort of a "You can't keep me in here, copper!" number.
We kept the door fastened with a binder clip. Sometimes I'd quietly remove the clip when Arthur was working up to his finale, and the door would pop open in mid-shake. Since he'd always have his front teeth hooked over the cage bar just above the door, he'd suddenly be hanging by his teeth in midair, flailing wildly with all four paws. I wish I'd gotten that on video.
Sometimes I'd unclip the door earlier in the evening so that Arthur could "escape" and run around on top of my sideboard. I figured a hamser who doesn't escape once in a while can't be truly happy.
Arthur slowed down as he got older. Some nights he'd skip the evening theatrics entirely, and just poke around quietly. Then, earlier this year, he barely came out for two nights running. That worried me. I lifted the top off his cage and looked under his igloo. Arthur stood up, but he was shaky and off-balance. Not good. I gave him water out of a squeeze bottle, and he stood up on his hind legs with his mouth wide open: obviously dehydrated. Also, still a drama queen.
I gave him as much water as he'd take, fed him his favorite snack of cold cooked green peas, and put him back to bed. I kept a close eye on him as I nursed him through the next few days, giving him water and soft foods, petting him gently, keeping him warm, and mostly just letting him sleep. He wasn't miserable, but he just got weaker and weaker. Under his mass of fluffy fur I could suddenly feel each rib and vertebra.
When I checked in on him the morning of his last day, he was curled up in a ball, and smelled bad. His paws were dirty, so I gently cleaned them with warm water and a cotton swab. Arthur hated being dirty. Eventually he uncurled enough for me to see the problem. He'd had diarrhea during the night, but he couldn't move, so there was a big ball of semi-soft hamsterpoo stuck in his belly fur. I didn't bathe him, just stuck the affected area under running warm water until the mess washed away, then bundled him into a lightweight towel to keep him warm while he got dry.
He was happier after that. I held him cupped in my hand up against my chest to keep him warm, gave him some water, and fed him a few more peas because he was too weak to bite into a piece of half-ripe avocado. Then he curled up and fell asleep in my hand. We sat that way for a long time. I could feel him passing in and out of dreams. You know how dogs run in their dreams? Hamsters gnaw.
Eventually I had to go to bed myself, so I tucked him up in his nesting material and covered him with his igloo. I thought he'd go right to sleep. Instead he walked out, slowly climbed up the ramp to his lounging spot on the second level (falling asleep twice en route), drank a little water from one of his bottles, looked out, sniffing, from the two nearest corners, then slowly plodded back down the ramp (falling asleep once more en route), and so back into his igloo.
I was a coward. Next morning, I asked my husband whether he could be the one to check on Arthur. I stood in the next room, listening, while he lifted off the top of the cage, then the igloo. Then he cried out in grief, and I knew that Arthur was dead.
He was the best of good hamsters, sweet-tempered and friendly, with a personality many times bigger than his furry little bod. If hamsters have immortal souls -- not an answerable question -- I hope he's in a place where he gets to make daring escapes every night; where there's an unending supply of peas, avocados, sunflower seeds, yuppie salad greens, and leftover Chinese takeout rice; and where he always has a loving and appreciative audience to play to.