Death of a Hamster

I never expected to be so devastated by the death of a hamster.

A little over a year ago my youngest daughter, Abbey, begged me for a hamster. In stereotypical fashion she promised to care for it, including feeding, cleaning out the cage and giving it plenty of loving attention. In just as stereotypical fashion she didn’t. Whenever I visited, for Abbey lives with her dad about a mile away, Munchkin, so named because the box he came home in resembled a Dunkin Donuts Munchkin carrier, seemed rather starved for affection – gnawing on the bars of his cage and climbing to the top only to drop off as if in suicide mission mode. One weekend when Abbey spent several days she brought Munchkin with her and he ended up staying.

To be honest, Abbey didn’t seem to miss him in the slightest. And me? Well I grew mighty attached to the little yellow furball.

Munchkin’s personality was enchanting – sweet and joyful, yet with a decidedly stubborn streak if he didn’t want any part of what you wanted him to do. He loved roaming the house in his ball, but even better he loved those rare occasions when the ball’s lid would fall off and, for a few brief moments until I discovered the empty ball, he would have utter freedom. One such occurrence happened when I was playing Scrabble online and completely forgot that Munchie was enjoying his ball. When I came downstairs it was to find his ball in the living room, empty, and the cat batting away beneath the refrigerator.

When I sold a vintage tin dollhouse on eBay, I got the idea of using Munchkin in the photography. He loved running from room to room, peering out the windows.

Munchkin also loved treats. I hadn’t known that hamsters had pouches until one day when I was feeding him cashews. At first I thought that he was simply a little piggy – one after another he stuffed the cashews in. Then, when he began to resemble Marlon Brando in the Godfather, I realized that he was storing them. Fruits, vegetables, nuts and seeds – Munchkin loved it all. He had recently had his first taste of fresh pineapple and his relish of that tiny cube of fruit was a delight to watch. Seeing him store an entire spear of cooked asparagus in his pouch was a sight I will always remember.

I’d been quite upset to learn that hamsters generally have a lifespan of only two years. So when I went to check on him yesterday morning, when he’d been with us only a little over a year, I was more than a little distressed to find that he’d passed in his sleep. He had one of those little plastic hamster beds, the kind that look like dollhouse beds. From the moment it was put in his cage, lined with fluff and tiny vintage flannel blankets, he knew what it was for and slept nowhere else. At first I thought that he was asleep and would peek his head out, in usual fashion, when I called his name. When he didn’t and I went to stroke him, I found him stiff.

He had a send off befitting the joy he spread ... a viewing where he was placed, still in his bed, within an elaborate Victoria's Secret box marked, fittingly, "Angel" on the front. Surrounded by candles and fresh flowers, my daughter's ipod played "Into Dust" while we recalled the charming mannerisms that had made up our beloved yellow rodent, Munchkin. And then he was buried beneath the new small tree in the back yard.

Already I miss our morning routine, when I'd awaken Munchkin for his treat of a fingerful of yogurt, some blueberries or a small handful of nuts. And when I slip into my hot pink terrycloth bath robe after my morning shower, I recall how Munchie liked to ride in the cozy pocket, snuggled up against me and occasionally climbing up to peer out.

Even the cat seems to miss Munchkin’s exuberant ball chases around the house. He was a special little hamster indeed. Rest in peace, Munchkin.