Today I take on the health and well-being of Mr. McSeed. A heavy responsibility indeed. Mr. McSeed is a hamster. At least the rabbit is going elsewhere this year. I can't bear to see her in her cage so she eats the furniture in the sunroom. There's no grass for her in my garden and far too many cats. The one time I tried leaving her outside the biggest fattest cat sat atop her cage swinging his tail like the cat in that children's book series about a rabbit? hamster? (Brain's gone dead. I blame the sun.) Hah! 'Olga da Polga.' Hamster. I think.
For reasons made clear in the comments following this passage Mr. McSeed will not be allowed out of his palatial three story mansion during his stay.
Sandy is good at imaginative names. Mr.M started as Hammy - sorry I have been reminded it was 'Mouse' (a name that appealed to Sandy's highly developed sense of the absurd) but soon this wasn't elegant enough. When he was four he got a plastic beetle in a cracker then scoured the house for a box he could put it in (he had been listening to Christopher Robin poems) and his beetle lived by his bed for years; is even now kept carefully in a toy box. It disappeared once and hell, as only a five year old can create it, broke loose. That beetle was called Todhunny Beekle.
His uncle Costa, now a muscular 6'4" 28 year old, can be made to blush when reminded of his imaginary friend Alice and the language they used. A word that sticks in my head is 'Alishka-shloshkan.' As he was a very late talker (two sisters? and anyway Chloe who rarely stopped talking once she started) I began to wonder if he had been Slovinian in a former life-time.
I have these random thoughts.
4 comments:
Do you remeber my hamster that Annie trod on, he expired quietly while we were donstairs watching Top of the Pops?
Oh don't - I have horrors every time a see a small furry body running free!
My brother had gerbils. When one fell off the mantlepiece and was taken to the vet with a broken leg, it bit the vet quite successfully. He shook his hand for a few minuts bfore he realised that it was not going to let go and then shouted "rabies" and smashed it against the stainless steel bench.
We, too have fears of such an event repeating itself.
Cheers and furry strokes
Gillian
That's such a terrible story - tell me where the vet is and I will happily smash HIM against the wall! Why work with animals if you are afrad of rabies - and have they never heard of gloves!! I shall go indignant into my day now!! Woe betide any vets who try to buy a book.... although happily they all seem nice in this part of the world.
Post a Comment