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Jun. 30th, 2011 04:25 amMartha was meant to come home today but after the bad weather at the start of her holidays they decided to stay another day. So I've got a snoring, farting SandyDog on my bedroom floor, curled up on two of my pillows and my slanket. She occasionally wakes up a bit and looks at me to see if I'm going to do anything entertaining such as give her some chicken or a hamster, then gives up and starts snoring again. I snore. I've woken people up when there were two walls and a corridor between us. I say this just so you understand what I mean when I say that this animal is the loudest snorer in the house.
Mr. Bitey the hamster is also in here for reasons unknown. He's a hamster, he's in a cage, he's making a lot of noise on his fancy wheel. Apparently his real name's Hamilton, but he bites me and only me so I've rechristened him Mr. Bitey (though I've been feeding him hamster crack all week to try and make him love me. Or sunflower seeds as they're better known.) I've had hamsters of my own before. Berk and myself got on rather well once we both got over that one time he bit my nipple, though admittedly he didn't last too long before escaping and drowning in the loo (dead hamsters don't flush.) Then there was Oscar who survived a lot longer and didn't die a horrible smooshy death, despite figuring out how to open his hamster ball. He wasn't the most pleasant tempered of animals, but we got along fine as long as I kept him supplied with sunflower seeds.
Last night. I can totally do this. I can't let anything happen to either animal though, not after the time I lost Daz the hamster. Martha still hasn't entirely forgiven me for that one.
This is all making me realise that maybe I'm not actually cut out for parenthood. Goldfish, I can totally handle goldfish. Maybe one of them instead of a baby.
Mr. Bitey the hamster is also in here for reasons unknown. He's a hamster, he's in a cage, he's making a lot of noise on his fancy wheel. Apparently his real name's Hamilton, but he bites me and only me so I've rechristened him Mr. Bitey (though I've been feeding him hamster crack all week to try and make him love me. Or sunflower seeds as they're better known.) I've had hamsters of my own before. Berk and myself got on rather well once we both got over that one time he bit my nipple, though admittedly he didn't last too long before escaping and drowning in the loo (dead hamsters don't flush.) Then there was Oscar who survived a lot longer and didn't die a horrible smooshy death, despite figuring out how to open his hamster ball. He wasn't the most pleasant tempered of animals, but we got along fine as long as I kept him supplied with sunflower seeds.
Last night. I can totally do this. I can't let anything happen to either animal though, not after the time I lost Daz the hamster. Martha still hasn't entirely forgiven me for that one.
This is all making me realise that maybe I'm not actually cut out for parenthood. Goldfish, I can totally handle goldfish. Maybe one of them instead of a baby.
