Farewell Ariel, Hello Meanie Face

Recently, Ariel Karen Wilson escaped her cage and disappeared.

This was of course very troubling for Malan and Jane who spent much of two days imagining the horrible things that might be happening to her.

I told them not to worry, she was probably already dead.

When that failed to comfort them, I told them maybe she just wanted to live free and wild in nature again. Luckily, they didn't ask how she would do that in three feet of snow. Or about the first time she lived free and wild in nature.

We searched every corner of our house while Malan motivated us by saying things like, "I just know Ariel is really dead," or "I think she got eaten by a mouse," or "When can we get a new hamster?"

When our search party pooped out, I googled how to make a "humane" trap for a hamster, which involved luring her with treats up a rickety book staircase into a paper towel roll baited with peanut butter which would then drop her 18 times her height into a hard plastic bucket, where she would wait the night out alone and foodless.

It didn't work.

There was nothing more to do, and the girls needed closure. Which meant we had to get another hamster. I understand now that this is a vicious cycle.

So Malan, Jane, and I headed for the pet store around 8 pm, which is about the time each day when my logic and decision making skills deteriorate rapidly. After staring blankly at new cages for approximately a million minutes, I noticed Malan fidgeting nervously and discovered Jane had crawled onto a low shelf and was bedding down for the night.

"This one," I decided and herded my tired offspring toward the small pet section.

A helpful salesperson was waiting.

"Oh, you don't want that kind of cage. They can gnaw right through them and escape," she told me.

"These are the only kind of cages you sell," I pointed out.

"I know. . ."

At least she sounded genuinely disappointed.

"Well, let's look at your hamsters," I said. "How about those little black ones?"

"Oh, they all have wet tail. They'll be dead in a few days."

Malan's bottom lip started to quiver.

"Okaaaaay. How about that brown and white one. She looks like Ariel, don't you think girls?"

"I don't know," the helpful salesperson replied. "She's kind of mean."

"What about that last one there."

"She's mean too."

"Perfect."

"I want the one that looks like Ariel!" Malan said. Jane agreed.

"We'll take that mean one," I said.

Malan and Jane almost passed out over my decisiveness.

Back at home we readied the old cage and taped plastic over Ariel's escape hatch.

"What should we name her?" I asked.

Sophia Beauty Wilson was decided upon.

"She doesn't look so mean," I said as I let her crawl from her box onto my hand and began to lift her into her cage. Promptly she clamped down on my forefinger with her razor sharp incisors, so I quickly flung her into her cage and shut the door. She then crawled up the door, spread out her bat-like arms, wrapped her teeth menacingly around the bars, and stared at me out the sides of her eyes.

I tried not to be the first to blink, but I couldn't keep my eyes open when I shuddered.

Now we just call her "Stinker" or "Meanie Face." The girls are too afraid to feed her because she hides inside her plastic castle and then pounces toward the door whenever it opens. I have to distract her by waving food on one side of the cage and then I dart my hand in like lightning to refill her bowl.

I'd think about uncovering the "escape hatch," but then I'd be afraid to walk around my house barefoot at night.

Ariel, we really miss you. And if you're still out there, watch your back girl.