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The serious writer has a hamster. The hamster is dying. She drags her hindlegs and pees herself. The spirit of life is still strong in her: she climbs up the cage as she used to, then falls over to one side. Her left eye is half closed. She might have had a stroke. As he sees this, the serious writer’s heart breaks in small pieces suitable to feed the rodent, who will not eat or drink.
The serious writer has come to rely on his pet. He is reluctant to call her that, since she’s become a member of the family, albeit the least talkative one. He used to read his pieces to her. He enjoyed being with another creature purposelessly immersed in a mutual moment late at night.
Out of her one dark eye, the hamster considers the serious writer, who feels his humanity melt under her unlooking gaze. She feels little pain, only a deep tiredness as if she’d gone down one road too many. She delights in being able to move at all. She knows nothing of the embarrassment of her wobbly walk. The swaying of her little body seems odd but acceptable to her, as were the conditions of her incarceration, which she did not perceive as prison nor as a privilege. The large animals surrounding her, their stomping and shouting, reach her as if through a thick fog. She feels everything with the greatest alacrity now.
As she stiffens, as her small frame withers like a brush stroke splashed with water, the serious writer tears up and begins to sob angrily. He howls, his wail travels out on the street, rises above the roofs, and the soul of the tiny mammal rides to hamster heaven on a moonlight ray, carrying the sacrament of her short, nutty life to the starry skies.
Aw, man. I’m crying with you. I’m so very sorry for the loss of this lovely, unassuming little creature who shared your life. You’ve honored her by this final eulogy of eloquence.
Oh NO!! ….please, no. ……
Oh, this is just too sad. Funny how we can love even rodents in our busy, important world. I am remembering a small dog in Korea named Chayo. He is six weeks old and he has contracted the parvovirus. I watch as the vet puts a clear class bowl over his weak little body and fills it with a strange mist. Chayo scratches once at the glass, sits down like a good little boy, relaxes and lays on his side. I watch as he takes in a breath once and lets it out one last time. His eyes are open, and cute like that of any newborn creature. Sigh.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
(sorry)
((this is beautiful))
(((it kills me)))
I AM VERY SAD.
aww, frank, that is a heartbreaking story about your dog in korea. thanks for sharing. glad to feel it. (my two validation words, oddly enough: ‘Street’ and ‘Feel’).
Serious writer, this is so sadly beautiful… I wailed with you, as I could remember my losses.
It is very moving to find an adult male writing about the loss of a “pet” and in such a way…
thank you lorraine…though perhaps i am a male hamster, too, in which case it’s not so far off…you see i’ve regained my humorous balance. the hamster was a jolly old soul and wouldn’t have liked us to wear black for too long. she’s sorely missed though!