G'Night, John-Boy

You may have noticed that I've been on edge as of late. I've been meaning to say something about it. Sorry, but I always get that way a couple of weeks before my family comes to visit. I've never been more glad that the clerk at Pets-O-Rama picked me up to sell to little Sally Drizzlenose more than when I see my old brood again.

It would be one thing if during their visit we could all just go to our separate corners once in a while, but have you ever seen my place? It's one room. Then there's listening to my mother the whole visit; "You look like you've put on weight, Noodle. Why can't you be more like your sister Powderpuff, Noodle? Who's that weird fish over there, Noddle?" That's usually my breaking point. Say what you will about my weight and sibling comparison, but nobody steps to TaTa. Then the fights break out. And after all that... we get to sleep together right on top of one another (sounds weird, but trust me, it's all part of the burrowing instinct). By the time they all leave, I'm holding my breath just so I can get lightheaded.

And it never fails - someone always leaves something behind so I know they'll be back agan like an itchy rash. Don't misunderstand me. I love them, of course I do. But I love them the way you love the planet Jupiter. It's really pretty from afar, but as soon as you get too close the gravitational force squishes you into hamster goo. Well, from an emotional standpoint, that is. You get the idea.

Oogity Boogity!

This is so exciting. Halloween is so close, I can almost taste it like witch's brew. And do you know why it's so great? Because I get stuff, and I don't have to give anything to anyone... like at Christmas. Well, let me back track a little bit. I try to get stuff. Did you ever see the end of The Incredible Shrinking Man? Remember when the cat finds him and tries to make confetti out of him? My situation is kind of like that. And that's assuming I even get that far.

Even if I get out of the house without a closing door separating me from the feeling in my legs, I'm still not home free. This is the part where the cat comes in. Or, to be more specific, the cat next door, the dog two houses down on the left and pretty much any bird of prey in the northern hemisphere. But for the sake of argument, let's assume I made it to house number one on my sugar stop. Okay, now I just ring the bell, right? Easy for you to say, biped.

My best bet is to lurk in the shadows (which is extra cool because, ya' know, it's Halloween). Eventually some fudgy-pudgy is going to be eager to grab too much candy. The next thing I know, I'm showered in Snickers and Twizzlers. Just no Gobstoppers or anything in a box please. They hurt coming down. Once Dracula Junior moves to the next house, I hop a ride on the glucose superhighway. But don't frown. I'm not all greedy. When I eventually roll home I always make sure to toss a Tootsie Pop in TaTa's bowl. Sure, he can't eat it, but it is fun to watch it dissolve. Then I figure he can breathe the sugar.

Tiny Bubbles

You know what the best part of the oncoming chilly weather is? Being able to swim indoors in a heated pool. Well, not that it's a pool quite so much as a kitchen sink, but when your total body mass amounts to 10 ounces you don't exactly need the Grand Canyon. And it's even an activity that I can enjoy with my golden buddy, TaTa.

Lugging him over to the kitchen counter is something of a challenge, but worth it. Within minutes of the sink being filled and me diving off the faucet, we're playing water polo with the scrubby sponge. Now I know what you're thinking. Why not just take a dip in TaTa's bowl and let the filter worry about any hairballs. No thanks. First of all, TaTa is cold blooded. Do you know what that means? It means some major shrinkage on my hamster parts as soon as I dip a toe in that mini-Arctic Sea. The second reason I'd never go in there is that TaTa is a slob. The place is awful. He wouldn't even be able to find his food if it didn't float on top. Anyway, back to my little hot tub.

After about 1/2 hour the water starts to chill a bit and needs replenishing. But I admit it - I'm lazy. So lazy, in fact, that I take it as my cue to hop out, wrap a paper towel around my waist and make for my cage. Let my owners worry about draining the sink and putting TaTa back in his tank. Besides, since he can't talk they always just blame it on him anyway. A mute friend makes a great scapegoat.

Worth Every Penny

Well, what do you think? Be honest, you thought I was Sting for a second there. Hey, the surgery took his kind of dough. And that's no wonder - there aren't a whole lot of places who will give a hamster a nose job. I'd been thinking about it for a while now, and decided to just give it a go. If it doesn't work out, I can just have it undone like the implants I did last fall. I know, I know, but that was only because I lost a bet with TaTa.

It's an empowering thing to have a whole new nose. Practically speaking, breathing has been a lot easier. TaTa likes to crack wise and ask if I'll help to make his bowl into a jacuzzi, but I think he's just jealous. After all, trying to find a doc to do a gill job has got to be next to impossible. In addition to the practicality aspect, the other rodents I've come across have started paying a lot more attention to me. Sure, they're mostly fieldmice in the wood pile and chipmunks on the window sill, but a musician can only play the instruments he's given, right?

Don't worry though, I'm not going to let this new look go to my head... so to speak. I'll still be the same debonaire, dashing hamster you've always known. I'll just be a lot cooler looking on the dance floor and get free drinks from stray cats. Is it me, or have I always been this buff?

If You Prick Me, Do I Not Squeak?

So I've decided to try my paw at acting. I know, exciting, isn't it? This past Sunday's Arts and Entertainment section stated that there are open tryouts for Merchant of Venice. My heart tells me I'd be an awesome Shylock. Ideally, I'd try out for Romeo, but he didn't make it into that play. Must have been the poison he took in that other play.

Now there are a few different ways to get into the roll. I asked TaTa which he preferred, and he was a big fan of method acting. He told me that's what Dustin Hoffman did in Marathon Man. On the other hand, Lawrence Olivier (Larry to his friends) poo-pooed this method and said, "That's why they call it acting, my good man." Yeah, he cracks me up a lot too. You should catch his 1972 interview on The Dick Cavett Show. Classic.

Anyway, now I just need a way to get to the auditions. TaTa offered to give me a lift, but there's no river or fjord on the way. For my monologue I'm torn between Willy Loman's beautiful yet heartbreaking soliloquy before killing himself in Death of a Salesman or singing the theme song from Pound Puppies. Admit it, that was one cute cartoon.

A Little More Off The Top, Please

What have I done? Every time I look in the mirror, that's what I ask myself. At the time I thought it was a good idea. No, not just a good idea - a great idea. Come on now, all you ladies out there. After even just a few weeks, you're sick of your haircut too, aren't you? Well just think how someone feels who's had the same shaggy hairdo since day one. I needed a new me.

I can't even really say hairdo though, can I? I mean, technically speaking, I have fur. So it just kinda grows and falls out. But that's depressing. If I were an old hamster, I'd accept it, but not when my skin is so taught and glowing. TaTa has it lucky with just scales to worry about. But how does the dude not get chilly? Yeah, I get the whole warm blooded/cold blooded thing, but then wouldn't he just be perpetually cold? Maybe it's the kind of thing where if you're cold all the time you don't even notice it after a while. Why did this occur to me? Well, because I couldn't very well cut my own hair, could I? So I handed the scissors over to my pal Edward Fishyhands. Man, that water is cold.

Maybe the problem wasn't that he's a bad stylist, just that he had to lean his body against one blade while using his fins to grasp the other blade, pulling the two together. And it's all done above water - where he can't breathe! If you think it sounds complicated, you should see him actually doing it. I swear, he's the David Blaine of fish. I'm going to give it a couple of weeks and see how it grows out. In the meantime, I'll just use lots of product. Now where did I put that mega hold gel?

Is It Hot In Here Or Is It Just You?

Yep, another week goes by in Albany, and you know what that means. Mother Nature flips the switch from "Muggy and Oppressive" to "Arctic and Frostbite Inducing." But I jest... somewhat. True, I've only been on this earth for a few months, but I've already made note of one thing; there are only two seasons in this town.

When it comes down to the season we're facing (I call it "Fallinter"), it's actually not that bad. It's been Hades-like for so long, that it makes me feel good to snuggle into my reindeer sweater, throw another couple of twigs on the fire and ask TaTa if he'd like another mini-marshmallow in his mini-cocoa. But then something strange happens in a few months. I recall March of 2008 as if it were yesterday... I was rolling in some leaves and watching my breath billow away as I sang See Me, Feel Me by The Who when all of a sudden my sweatshirt was sticking to me, there was a haze in the air and middle aged neighbors were in Daisy Dukes and black socks. Did someone spike my water bottle? It was suddenly July.

Thank goodness I'm a hamster and not a dog. I spend most of my time inside enjoying God's greatest gift to man - air conditioning. My owners despise the heat as much as I do, so it means snuggling under a washcloth and trying to keep my nose warm... which is tough since I have a wet nose and all.