All of my life my family has kept pets of one kind or another. We have had dogs, cats, hamsters, guinea pigs and rabbits.
Without a four legged companion, I personally don't feel that a house can be called a home. Of course this does sometimes come at a price, with chewed belongings, scratched furniture and oftentimes hurt pride. However, the sacrifice is more then worth it when those cute little eyes look up at you at the end of the day.
Below are three stories from my own family history, of displays of outright hooliganism. Names have been changed to protect the innocent, but events are factual and shocking. If you have just bought a small furry companion into your own home, be afraid, be very afraid.
Honey The Hamster
Honey was my first hamster, a golden Syrian, hence the name. I loved her with a passion, although she didn't used to love me when I tried to wake her up in the middle of the day by lifting the roof off her house and calling her name, and I often got a nip for my troubles.
Honey also had a great skill, and that skill was escapology. In order to keep her inside her cage, we had piled books on top, thinking that this would make it far too heavy for her to push the little door open. Oh how wrong we were. Suddenly in the middle of one night there was an enormous crash. I came running down the stairs to find the books, and we are talking extremely large volumes here, on the floor.
I was almost too afraid to look, vivid images of her lying squished beneath the books, running through my mind, like some dreadful twist on Tom & Jerry. At that moment though I heard a little scuttling and out scurried Honey, none the worse for wear, but quite intent on her path to find more food. Hamsters!
Turvy The Cat
We had two kittens called Topsy and Turvy and from those names you probably get an idea of how the house looked most of the time.
They were little tearaways as kittens but all the same they grew into very fine and loving cats. Turvy however, still retained a little of her naughtiness, which came to a head one Sunday lunchtime.
My Dad was the cook in our house and every Sunday morning he would spend a great deal of time and effort preparing the Sunday roast. Each week it was different joint of meat, but this particular day he had settled on a perfect roast chicken. I had laid the table and my Dad was just bringing the potatoes and vegetables into the dining room, when all of a sudden there was a huge amount of noise and commotion coming from the kitchen.
All animals were banished to the garden whilst lunch was being prepared, but that Sunday someone, and gosh I just can't think who, had left the back door ajar. Turvy had seen her chance and jumped up on the kitchen counter, where the hot chicken had been placed, grabbed a leg and made off, dragging her quite substantial prize behind her. Our dog had caught sight of this and was in hot, quite literally, pursuit down the garden.
It was a sad Sunday of vegetables and potatoes, and the intent gaze of my Dad who had his very real suspicions about who had left the back door open.
Truffles The Guinea Pig
Truffles was only a few months old, when I took her proudly over to my Granparent's house to show them my new little treasure. Truffles was taken on her own, without her sisters, as we though it safer this way and easier to deal with transport etc. Truffles was obviously feeling a little frisky as she was out on her own though and decided to play up.
When we reached my Nan and Grandad's house her box was placed on the floor and she immediately found a way to scale the heights of the side of the box and was off, tearing around the living room. She was chased around under every piece of furniture, until finally my Grandad, who was in his seventies at this time, managed to corner her underneath a dining room chair, by kneeling on the floor and curling his arms around her.
Truffles, however, was going to have none of this and she made a little leap and bound over his arms and circled around behind him. It was at this point that she spotted a nice dark safe tunnel and promptly ran up my Grandad's trouser leg. My Grandad let out a screech and Truffles was promptly dragged out, she had thankfully only got as far as his knee. That story, as you can imagine, was long remembered.
