Thursday 5 February 2015
Testosterone
Thing is, since she brought me back from the pet shop, the visitors to our flat have been largely like her, and me. That's to say, female. Well ok, there has been the odd human with large feet and a suspiciously deep voice, but I've bided my time in my luxury four roomed pine lodge until the interloper has left. Hey, and none of the 'Syrian hamsters sleep all day anyway' garbage. I'm strictly a 24 hour party animal, so staying in bed is a superhamster sacrifice. But back to my main point. Today she pushed my tolerance to the limit. And beyond. What happened? I was happily digging away at the skirting board behind the kitchen chair, and what a cool hole I'm shaping there; if there's a cavity in the wall, I'll soon have a theme park of a run. Anyway, heedless of the importance of my engineering, she scooped me up and wrapped me in the tea towel; this she does if we're going out of the flat in case I get cold. Don't you just love it? A quick wriggle and I was sitting on her shoulder, and by the time she had the front door open, I was sitting in the warm place between the back of her neck and the fur, faux of course, gilet she was wearing. The lady in the opposite flat admired me dutifully, and then something odd happened. The neighbour left the building, but we entered the neighbour's flat.
Wow, yippee, better than yoghurt drops new smells, new sights, new strange sounds. He he, I ran from one shoulder to the other and over her head, which tickles her scalp, trying to take it all in. But my unbridled joy was cruelly truncated. Testosterone. I smelt it, and I really didn't like it. I snuck back into the safe neck position as we entered the kitchen and the smell nearly asphyxiated me. There were two of them. Men doing stuff to the washing machine. I poked my nose out, trying not to breathe, to study them closer, though my dodgy eyesight let me down.
They spotted me, they stuck oversized fingers out and tickled my ears and made all the right noises, though somewhat low in register. Of course, I was angelic. I didn't nip, actually I couldn't have tasted flesh that aromatic for fear of death, and sat obligingly on her shoulder, keeping one tiny paw firmly attached to her ear until the torture was over and we left them to their spanners.
Well what is a proud Syrian to do? I had to protest. I sat in the crook of her neck, and summoning every last millilitre of must laden urine I could ring from my tiny body, peed luxuriously over the gilet and down her neck. Revenge is best served warm and damp.
Wow, yippee, better than yoghurt drops new smells, new sights, new strange sounds. He he, I ran from one shoulder to the other and over her head, which tickles her scalp, trying to take it all in. But my unbridled joy was cruelly truncated. Testosterone. I smelt it, and I really didn't like it. I snuck back into the safe neck position as we entered the kitchen and the smell nearly asphyxiated me. There were two of them. Men doing stuff to the washing machine. I poked my nose out, trying not to breathe, to study them closer, though my dodgy eyesight let me down.
They spotted me, they stuck oversized fingers out and tickled my ears and made all the right noises, though somewhat low in register. Of course, I was angelic. I didn't nip, actually I couldn't have tasted flesh that aromatic for fear of death, and sat obligingly on her shoulder, keeping one tiny paw firmly attached to her ear until the torture was over and we left them to their spanners.
Well what is a proud Syrian to do? I had to protest. I sat in the crook of her neck, and summoning every last millilitre of must laden urine I could ring from my tiny body, peed luxuriously over the gilet and down her neck. Revenge is best served warm and damp.
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