It might seem that I would be the kind of guy that might have a street mutt as a companion, a mangy dog with lots of personality that was always at my side even when the world was against me. Man's best friend, right? You know, we'd play fetch, he'd bark at strangers, and he'd be this ever-present pal that would do anything for me. We'd go to the park and after a time we'd probably start to look like each other. We'd be a pair.
Or maybe I'm a cat guy. I've got my dark vibe going on, so perhaps a sleek little panther to prowl my apartment, warily watch me from across the room, and set an example for me of what it means to live on instinct alone. The feline would probably give me shit a lot of the time, but then again, when it got cold enough and I didn't seem to notice, the predator would sneak up onto my bed and dream cat dreams against my body heat.
But I don't have either. I grew up with many cats and dogs and I love 'em all. But I also found that I was happiest when they were happiest, and that meant when they had lots of room to roam, the great outdoors to play in 24/7, and every opportunity to, well, be animals. Not pets, but animals in the truest sense. Sure, they were domesticated, but they were beasts to be sure. Our dogs ran wild and cats wilder. We loved them all, but we never thought of them as our children or babies, but rather as companions and very cool reminders of the less civilized part of life, a part that we all too often forget about in our sick hurry to make money, buy more and more, and show others our success.
So, when my girl began to seriously crave a pet--one which she was unable to have due to her living arrangements--I gave it some serious thought. I didn't want to trap some poor dog in my place all day long while I worked, and leave him alone even more as I went out with friends or wandered the alleys and dark corners of DC in pursuit of art, pleasure, and danger. I just couldn't do that; it wouldn't be fair. I considered a cat, but the memories of my family's own cats--wild hunters slaying creatures great and small day and night in the woods and meadows around our country home--made it too hard to imagine simply plopping such a beautiful creature in a carpeted studio apartment where the closest the cat could get to wildlife was looking at my desktop wallpaper. No, couldn't do that, either.
Hamsters. She first brought up the idea, and after a few days of research--cost, feeding, habits, cleaning, accessories, medical information--I said yes. Within a week we went out to the PetSmart near Seven Corners and nabbed two little sisters, about ten weeks old. Ellie and Isabella, she named them; or El and Bel, to me. I have to admit, they are pretty cute, and their nocturnal lifestyle fits perfectly with my own. The only issue was the noise their running wheel made, but I found a kind that is actually quieter than their own feet, so that was easily solved.
Oh, and I was maneuvered into buying a Betta fish also, so that guy—I named him Mulder in honor of the X-Files—floats about in his little plastic tank on my desk, too. My place is a friggin' menagerie now. Jeesh. Welcome to the Wild Kingdom.
Anyway, I've got to go and check-up on the Little Girls, now. I think they'd probably like a little fresh broccoli....
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