Win One For The TaTa

"That's enough, Reggie."

That's how it all started, but I should back up a little bit to bring you in on the Rumble in the Jungle. My owner apparently decided one hamster wasn't enough, so I woke up four days ago to the sound of foreign snores in my palatial estate. At first, I thought I'd been dreaming about breathing through a wet rag, or maybe we'd moved closer to the shore. But it turns out that neither was the case. I suddenly had a roommate named Reggie.

At first I thought it would be cool. We could run mazes together, talk about which celery is tastier (foreign or domestic). You know, fun stuff like that. But I quickly realized that Reggie was way more interested in treating our whole situation the way Marsha and Jan couldn't wait to pull a Code Red on Cindy. This new guy couldn't ask enough questions about TaTa, and that instantly made me suspicious. Then when Reggie's Spanish Inquisition was over, he moved his line of thought into all but water boarding my friend (which I guess would need to be more like air boarding since he's a fish and all). At first he just did dopey stuff like slap his paw on top of the water, but it quickly moved to unplugging TaTa's bubble treasure chest (the one where the little diver's head pops out - it's cute). Unacceptable. My room temperature blood began to boil. I was like Popeye watching Bluto hamster-handle Olive Oyl. Now this is the cool part where my saying "That's enough, Reggie," came into play.

This rat-excuse for a cuddly hamster swings around out of nowhere with a roundhouse kick. But I knew it was coming. I effortlessly raised my right paw to block it, twisting one of his claws in the process. Unfazed, Reggie was back up, swinging and flailing like the amateur that he is. Launching myself off my ferris wheel, I did a spin flip, catching both sets of his whiskers and landing him on his back. In hindsight, it felt like it was all in slow motion. He did get one good swipe in before I bought him a one way ticket to Unconsciousville. Grazing my chest with his hind leg he actually drew some blood, but the coolest part came next. I made no squeak. I just looked down, wiped the blood with my paw and touched it to my tongue, all the time not taking my eyes off him. I know, totally Bruce Lee, right? I'd go into how I finished him off, but there may kids in the room. You're welcome, TaTa.

Feel The Burn

I admit it, I couldn't wait till Christmas for this present. There are only so many infomercials a hamster can take in before he starts to realize he either needs to work on his self confidence, look better or improve his skin tone. I decided to do all three and buy that weight set I'd seen that blonde guy with the pony tail pushing. And to think - before I called I didn't even know they sold 4 ounce weights.

It all started when I accidentally caught myself in the mirror from a side view. At first I thought it was just extra fur. You know, my summer haircut was finally growing in or something. But then, after I got out of the bath one time and the fur was matted down, I still noticed that I didn't manage to maintain my college washboard tummy. What, I never mentioned that I was a dorm room pet before I transferred to domestic life? Anyway, that was when the idea first stuck in my head. Borrowing my owner's credit card and dialing the phone would be no problem. The hard part was when I had to use the computer to make the purchase. Believe it or not, holding the shift key down with one paw while trying to type my name in is no easy task. Seven to ten business days later, my gateway to Stallone-ness was on the front stoop. But the number one lesson I learned from the infomercial was that you always need someone there to watch you work out.

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You don't need a spotter quite as much as you just need somone there to be amazed by how easy the workout is and how in no time at all you look better than Angela Lansbury did in the first season of Murder, She Wrote. I learned that from the infomercial too. I guess he or she could always jump in and help if you popped an O-ring or something, but that never came up. In short, I knew TaTa was my man. He did a great job of gazing in awe alright. In fact, he's often been speechless during my routine. He even puts on the wool cap I bought him so he looked like Mickey from Rocky I and II. I told him to forget Rocky III though. Mickey was just going through the motions by then.

My Hammies Are Killing Me!

Hey, where did all the grass go? No, seriously. A couple of weeks ago the big shot at this joint was out and about with the Yardboy 2000, bagging and tagging all the green for pickup. Now there's nothing but a sea of orange, brown and red out there. Not that it isn't beautiful, don't get me wrong, but based on what I overhear the head guy saying, the Yardboy won't make a dent. It's back to old fashioned raking for him.

That's not to say he doesn't crack out the Bigblaster Leafmaster XL for backup. You should see him with it. He's like Bill Murray in Ghostbusters the way he shoots at those things. But he's got no style, no rhythm. It's like watching a mini-tornado hit the yard. He doesn't understand the delicate dance with nature that it needs to be. If he's lucky, he just blows a few into the yard of the old lady who lives behind us. But she talks to the birdbath, so she'll never know. You've got to leave this kinda thing to a furry little mind like mine. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. I decided to take the same approach to de-leafing the yard. Insert spinning clock here with an overlay of my determined little face.

An hour and a half later, if I never see another dead leaf again it would be too soon. I swear, in looking back I think I moved all of like 12 leaves. And one gust of wind took care of that (darn you, stupid wind gust)! I don't know if you've ever tried it, but picking up leaves is not as easy as it looks. Every muscle in my body hurts - and that's saying a lot for a guy with muscles the size of rubber bands. They all fall so easily, so why not pick up easily too? I don't know who invented trees, but they apparently used prison rules when doing it.

Gobble This

Ah, the crisp smell of falling leaves, the chill in the air, the barking dog version of Jingle Bells at Walmart. It must be the holiday season... or at least the first week in November. Whatever happened to waiting till Black Friday to break out the holiday decorations? I haven't been around too long, but it seems like only yesterday we enjoyed just one, good solid month of Christmas preparations. The month of November used to be dedicated to this antiquated holiday known as Thanksgiving. You recall the 4th Thursday of the month, right?

That's the day when, despite the fact that it's a holiday, you have to wake up at the crack of where-the-hamster-sun-don't-shine to start rolling pie dough. Then while you try to peek in the living room to watch the same boring parade in the rain as last year, you set the timer for the turkey that will need more babysitting than your own offspring. But that's the easy part. At 1:30 the in-laws arrive. Then it's nothing but serving highballs and making sure the cheese dip doesn't run out. "Harry, can you run to the CVS and get more ice? The fridge died and I don't want the cranberry sauce to get warm." Dudes, you may laugh, but I've seen this script in action and it demands a curtain call. I mean seriously, even God took a day to chill. At least when everyone finally rolls home you can call it a day, right? Nice try.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Now you've got seven and a half hours of dishwashing ahead of you before you can close your eyes for about 20 minutes. Why only 20 minutes? Well, you need to hit Macy's for the 5:3o sale the next morning. Face it, if you're there any later than 5:47 you miss out on the extra 3% off eyeliner. Maybe it's just the fact that I don't have access to any cash, but what's the rush? You have a whole month to go sprint-shopping. I've seen my owners jump through more hoops over the holidays than Martha Stewart makes useless potholders. What am I doing this turkey day? Maxing and relaxing with my boy TaTa in front of the tube to watch the big Ohio State game, that's what. If we had pants, we'd even undo the button. Hey, to be honest, TaTa's just glad no one serves fish for Thanksgiving. I still don't know how I'm gonna break it to him about the seafood infatuation some folks have on Christmas Eve.

Live Free or Snack!

If there's one thing I've learned during my months in nursery school it's that freedom isn't free. But then neither is lunch. I have to put up with googly eyed kids and pats on the head that make my eyes ache for just a carrot. But there is one thing I've paid attention to - all the whining about politics. Is it me, or are all politicians just full of dried corn and wheat rice anyway?

Everyone is all up in arms about democracy, democracy, democracy. But guess what. We're not a democracy, people. Well, by that I mean you're not. My race just eats each other to fend in the wild. Now, I haven't been to Yale, Harvard or my local community college, but I have listened to three year olds recite the Pledge of Allegiance. And my people, I have paid attention. The last time I recall, they pledged alleigance "to the Republic for which it stands." Hold on to your smallpox blanket, Tonto. Republic? What happened to everyone crying about a democracy all the time? I decided to do a little research.

Yeah, go figure. It turns out that in a democracy it's winner takes all. And those of you who voted Sally McFoxy for class president know what that means. It's nothing more than a popularity contest. Founding fathers like Rambo and Reagan realized that it really shouldn't just be a popularity contest though. They followed a more Machiavellian concept (and that's pretty deep for a hamster). What a lot of folks don't seem to dig is that we elect representatives to make decisions for us. Papaya! In layman's terms, it's a "republic". But this is just an observation from a small hamster who doesn't even have the right to vote. I guess that slipped the minds of Rambo and the guy on the penny. Note to self: march on Washington about that.