Since my last pet column, I have had total strangers come up to me and completely seriously suggest that we should have kept the cat and gotten rid of the allergic kids. They may have had a point.
Although I chose a good home for the ex-cat, I was still easy prey to the guilt visited on me by the 8-year-old whose cat I had just evicted. The pet-store people were ready and waiting for us. We walked into the store and the adorable puppies on their newspapers in the front window reminded the 3-year-old of what he had refused to take care of before we left but had to do RIGHT NOW. I asked how much the rodents cost and discovered that they were practically free. So I left my daughter to pick out her almost-free rodent and took my son to the bathroom.
When I returned a few minutes later, the 8-year-old was standing by the cash register with this tiny boxed rodent in her hand and a Mona Lisa look of beatific delight on her face. Next to her was an enormous pile containing about $500 worth of rodent paraphernalia. The equally delighted rodent pimp purveyor rehomer explained that she felt sure we would want to provide our new rodent with the basics which would ensure it continued the high quality of life it had come to expect in its pet-store residence.
There was the palatial split-level abode including a complicated series of climbing tubes so we wouldn’t have a claustrophobic rodent. There was about an 18-year supply of gourmet rodent chow, vitamins, and litter so we wouldn’t have an unhealthy rodent. And of course, there were a variety of wheels, toys, and a little clear ball for excursions so we wouldn’t have a bored rodent.
My husband suggested naming our new rodent “Chewy” in honor of the dog’s strong interest in it, while I felt “Bubonic Plague” might add the correct note of historic panache. My daughter, of course, chose “S’mores”, which I practically had to have insulin even to say.
For my daughter, it was instant love. She played endlessly with the rodent, and even—I’d have to sit down and put my head between my knees whenever I saw this—kissed it. For me, getting used to having a rodent on purpose seemed about as easy as getting used to breathing underwater. Luckily, the rodent appeared suicidally bent on escape from Rodent-Oz, so I figured we wouldn’t be enjoying its company for much longer.
I’m not sure how S’mores got out so often. I suspect it got little chisels and saws smuggled inside its LeRodent Chow. But as soon as an escape was spotted, the alarm would go out and we’d have to follow the trail of rodent droppings to its new hideout. This was complicated by the dog, who very diligently consumed all evidence of the rodent’s passage. Once the rodent was spotted, of course, we had another problem—getting S’mores back into Rodent-Oz before being spotted by the dog.
That meant that an adult had to pick up the rodent. Deliberately. But due to some mystical alignment of planets and luck, my husband was never around during one of The Great Escapes. (This didn’t actually come as a surprise to anyone. We have four children, and not one of them ever barfed on the Hub. If I was out, they waited. It was completely expected that I could return and someone would immediately barf on me…) Similarly, I swear that S’mores would wait until the Hub’s plane had taken off before making another bid for freedom. And I would have to pick up a rodent.
Before becoming a parent, I was a reasonably fastidious person. Over the years, these standards had, under merciless siege (and much barfing), disappeared. Only two elements remained—I didn’t vote Republican and I didn’t touch rodents. It became clear that at least one of my core principles would have to go.
You’ll probably recognize me on election day. I’ll be the one carrying the rodent.
sknicholls said:
I keep threatening to buy my granddaughter one, but my daughter has assured me that Jalina has already made friends with the resident rats in their downtown bungalow…so no bother.
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barbtaub said:
Um…resident RATS? And that didn’t have Grandma whipping out her checkbook and buying a ratless condo for Jalina?
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sknicholls said:
I wish I could convince them to move to a nice condo. There are several affordable ones in our neighborhood just a few miles out of town, but they insist on staying in their “affordable” house in downtown.
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Léa said:
I was so fortunate to be spared. No doubt my daughter would have liked one but seemed to be happy playing with a wide assortment of creatures at a friend’s house. As long as there were cats to come home to…
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barbtaub said:
The cat eviction didn’t actually last that long. Once my son finished his series of allergy treatments, our cat population was again on the rise. Sadly, when we moved to the UK our vet said the trip might prove too much for our elderly cat, so she went to a good home. (Really. This time I learned my lesson and made sure my daughter went along as witness.)
She just started her first post-University job in NYC and had to find an apartment. I asked her what she was looking for, and she said it had to allow cats. Plural. She just moved into her new digs with two cats already in residence. It has NO furniture but apparently, life is good.
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Léa said:
My daughter does animal rescue and much of her flat is filled with four legged children. Not only are there three cats in residence but a dog and foster pets as necessary… 🙂 My son is looking for a second rescue dog to keep Rufus company when he is at work…
When one has cats, furniture is negotiable! It will arrive as needed.
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alisonewilliams said:
My daughter has had a series of hamsters, four I think, and each one had to have a wonderful home just like the one pictured, and each one did their level best to escape, including one memorable night when my sister was staying with us and the hamster appeared in her bed. I know exactly where you’re coming from.
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barbtaub said:
Daughter #2 woke one night to find S’mores on her face. I wonder if she plans to bill her sister for future therapy sessions…
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carol hedges (@carolJhedges) said:
D had a hamster…and we had a cat..I spent most of the time cleaning out one and fending off the other..happy days
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barbtaub said:
When my son was pronounced allergy-free, we did get another cat who spent a goodly portion of her days staring at Rodent-Oz. I think she saw it as a combination of the lottery and the soaps.
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BunKaryudo said:
I loved the story, not only because it was very funny, but also because it reminded me of my own pet-rich childhood environment. At one time, I had a mouse called Smedley who also used to escape regularly. Before that, I had a gerbil called Jerry who lived in a luxury multistory complex. This didn’t cost us anything, though, because my father was good at woodwork and so made it for me. It really was a bit of a palace. I liked both my pets, but I never felt very tempted to kiss either of them.
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barbtaub said:
To my shock, although all the books promised short hamster life-spans, S’mores hung in there for almost four years. In that time, we also had two more cats, another emergency backup dog, a bird, several hermit crabs, a lizard of some sort and—for the approximately 45 minutes it took for it to die—a parrot. And that doesn’t even count the fish.
It was really all my fault. I’d told the kids that they could each have one pet, but they had to read books first on how to care for it. Did I mention that my kids are extremely prolific readers? Telling them to read a book is like telling a two-year-old to eat candy. They had lists of pets they’d prequalified after multiple book readings. I was doomed from the start.
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Mary Smith said:
My son had a hamster which spent his entire (mercifully short) life plotting how to escape his super luxurious home. From comments above, escaping seems to be part of hamsters’ DNA. On one occasion he was gone for a couple of days and we thought the cat looked very, very guilty. However, we caught the hamster (I’ve forgotten his name) one evening raiding the cat’s bowl of crunchy things after which he shot under the washing machine. When we pulled the machine out we found he’d made himself a nest and stashed away enough food to keep him going for weeks. God knows what he thought was happening to his little hamster world when the washing macine was on full spin cycle.
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barbtaub said:
I can’t explain why, but your story reminds me of the year I moved to Seattle. They were having an unusually cold winter. In the morning, when I started my car, after a few blocks I would hear it squeaking. As I moved along, the sound would increase in pitch to a squeal, and then I wouldn’t hear anything for the rest of the day. I took the car to the mechanic, who came into the waiting room a few minutes later. Seems that mice were nesting in the car at night. In the morning, as the engine heated up, they…er…cooked. After I stopped vomiting, I put a heater in the garage, and had the cat stay out there for the next week or so.
My car was squeak-free. My psyche? Not so good…
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Judith Barrow said:
Love the post Barb.
When our kids were small we had gerbils (smelly)hamsters (even more smelly) Guinea pigs (noisy) budgies (messy) Canaries (messy but lovely singers) And the two dogs (gorgeous and as devoted to me as I was to them – and no trouble at all – although husband might disagree, being an avid gardener) We can never move from this house as we have had around twenty- five pet funerals across the lawn to the cherry blossom tree (complete with hymns and much snotty crying)
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barbtaub said:
The last line made me cry!
When we were moving to UK, I had to pick and choose what to keep and what to store. (Didn’t bring anything except silverware.) One thing was a chest with the ashes of several beloved cats and dogs, which I hope to finally bury when/if we ever stop rolling around the world as academic gypsies. That will be an anchor I’ll never want to leave again.
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Judith Barrow said:
Did me as I wrote it, Barb. Brings it all home.
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Elyse said:
We managed to only have absolutely free rodents — the ones who moved in uninvited. Last winter my husband looked up at the ceiling in our bedroom, hearing noise above him. A piece of plaster fell out, and out popped a squirrel head. We had fweens (spelled phonetically) in Switzerland who ate the wiring, and a pack of rats entered our house during a real estate open house.
I did not kiss a one of them.
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