on hamsters and healing

i wish there were enough words in the english language to describe how i feel sometimes. like right now sometimes. this is why i make up words, and this is why those words make total and utter sense.

when i was a kid, i had two hamsters, hammy and ophelia. besides the ridiculous shakespeare reference, they were awesome. granted, i almost killed ophelia when i decided it would be a good idea to put her in a fedora and take her out to our pool so she could "lay out" (i was absolutely certain that hamsters led human lives as soon as we walked out of the room when i was young).
she "got out" of the hat and "almost drowned" in our neighbors' pool gutter. good thing a white hamster looks nothing like a rat, or i might have been arrested for accomplice to hamster murder.

so, my mom told me not to touch the 13 (!) babies she had when she gave birth to hammy's offspring. "but why?" i asked. "well, because they will get eaten by the mother," she said.

okay. i have heard ridiculous horror stories from new mothers, and the gross things that happen when kids get sick... but a mother eATiNG her kids? c'monnnnnn. get outtttt. that is totally made up, and i was too smart for her little "stories". and let's face it, there is something retardedly cute about a teeny blind rodent. they're so soft, and teeny...

she totally ate them. all 13. down the hatch, no sauces.

i.

was.

devastated.

of course, it was my own fault, as my mother reminded me at least once a month every year afterwards (i didn't like doing dishes). but i was so tempted by their amaurotic adorableness that i had to go there... and it ended in death.

and so, i wish that webster's had a fucking word for this story, cause it's exactly how i feel at this very moment, and i can't fucking describe it without writing a god. damn. essay.

meh.

~k.