Life comes with three rules. They're not too complex, but they are set in stone:
1 - Everybody poops.
2 - Gravity pulls down.
3 - Human children will be given a pet hamster and something horrible will happen to it.
I'm gonna talk about that third one, but before I delve into the Romeo and Juliet level tragedy that is most hamster's lives. I need to first address another hamster related issue that, hilariously, plagues those tiny little rodents.
When children are given hamsters they are, understandably, excited. That excitement, which usually reads as: "OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHAUGHHHHHHHAMSTERAUGHHHHHH", usually manifests in children giving their hamster the first word that pops into their heads for a name.
Example: When I was given my little hamster, after totally flipping my shit, I decided on the perfect name for that 4 inch long glorified rat. That name was Spike. Or, as it read across the billboard in my 8 year old head:
HELL YEAH! The perfect name for a hamster. (The fact that Spike was a female never even threatened to change my mind.)
Another example of this nomenclative catastrophe is my girlfriend's younger brother's hamster. While its name lacks the hardcore punk rock attitude of my little pet, it has its own unique charm.
His hamster was named Shnivyconapplesauce.
Now THAT is a name. I can't wait until he gets to name ACTUAL children. The caring nature of her brother is evident in the name Shnivyconapplesauce. He was clearly concerned about his hamster going hungry, so he included a side dish INSIDE its name.
I guess the name Spike speaks to my nature of liking things... pointy?
When I got Spike on Christmas morning, my tiny head exploded in excitement at this little rock star now in my possession. I had everything planned out. I was going to build a maze for him and teach him to run through in record time. We were going to build this huge expanse of tunnels and tubes for Spike to crawl around in, and, after I had had him for a few years, I was pretty sure I would be able to fit a saddle to him and ride him into battle. Like so:
This is an artist's rendition of what I would have looked like on my hamster.
Later that day, after all the presents had been opened and the wrapping paper thrown away. I brought Spike up to my bedroom and proceeded to stare at him for hours in his little plastic universe. I could already see the maze in my head, already imagine the sword I was holding while riding my trusty steed.
Spike, however, just kinda sat there.
He sat. Walked around a little, then sat again.
He drank some water then... had a nice sit.
At this point I was getting bored. I had already conquered all of Europe in my mind, but Spike was still just kinda… sitting there. So I got up to play with my other toys, secure in the knowledge that old Spike would continue to sit there until he was ready to be fitted with his saddle.
I woke up the next morning and… GUESS WHAT… yup… Spike was gone.
We never really found out what happened to little Spike. My brother's theory was that he made his way into the sewers under the city, grew to the full size, and is currently putting together the revolution that will eventually overwhelm mankind. The sad truth, however, is probably that he crawled into the duct work and proceeded to die.
Now I know what you're all thinking: "Fuuuuuckkk! Now I'm all depressed!" Well, you shouldn't be thinking that.
Imagine, if you will, that you're little Spike. For hamsters, (who, I later discovered, do not grow huge, get fitted with saddles and ridden into battle as fearsome mounts... sucks, right?) that end to his life was like a Viking getting hewn down in the midst of battle.
As Spike wriggled out of his little cage and disappeared into the unknown, he surely felt as a might tree of a warrior, like Odin incarnate, venturing off to face the oblivion of Ragnarok! Little Spike died knowing that the hamster bards would forever sing of his glory.
So Spike's disappearance isn't one of the reasons why I hate everybody nowadays. But his noble adventure is certainly the reason why I DON'T hate everybody.
Oh... and remember little Shnivyconapplesauce? Yeah... he got too fat and got stuck in one of his crawly tubes and died. Kinda like... King Henry VIII... I guess...
No I can't sugarcoat that one... that is just depressing.