A Hamster's Journey
When I was just a few days old, snuggled with the litter into the warmth and security of the nest, my mother told me I was special. “Young pups,” she said. “You will achieve great things in this life. Never forget that. Each and every one of you will push the boundaries of hamster endeavour, and succeed in your chosen paths. I am, and will always be, as proud of you as a parent can be.”
I, blind and hairless and not yet two inches, believed her of course. I was not yet experienced in the ways of the world, and took her words to be true. I had no reason to suspect that she would lie to us, and it did not seem so unreasonable. We lived in a Rotastak; we were well fed, with water available on demand and a wheel to keep us in shape. Our owners would regularly take us out to allow us to explore our surroundings and find our true path in the world, gaining us experience that would stand us in good stead for the trials that lay ahead. Or so I thought.
Even when, at the tender age of two months and one week, my siblings and I were separated I thought nothing of it. They were off to have their own adventures and explore new territories, to spread the good name of Snuggles throughout the world and fulfill their destinies. I was left behind, without my brothers and sisters but secure in a mother’s love and excited at what the future may bring. I had had a lust for adventure from the moment I first set foot in The Sphere. The Sphere was a giant transparent ball that gave me my first taste of freedom and danger, of an independence I had never previously known, away even from the hands of my owners. And I liked it. I wanted to see the world beyond the confines of The Living Room and (on rare occasions) The Kitchen. I knew there was excitement waiting for me beyond my carpeted domain, if only I could reach it.
By the age of six months I had become a young man. Fully equipped with tooth and claw, I felt strong and agile, and began an intense workout regime in my cage. I would do circuits of my home, using the vertical tubes to build my upper body and sprinting through the horizontal ones. I would spend many minutes a night on the wheel, until my stamina rose to impressive levels, enjoying the feel of ridged plastic under my paws. I kept to a strict diet, avoiding the chocolate treats that my mother so loved, and feasting on the seeds and vegetables that I knew would make me strong. At the end of every night, as dawn was beginning to break, I would sit in the turret of the Rotastak, expanding my mind through meditation and watching the sun drive the shadows from the room. Mother both inspired and spurred my efforts, and I basked in her ever-growing pride.
Such things can only last for so long. It was not long before I had reached the peak of physical perfection, and sought a new challenge. I longed to test my well-honed body, to push it to the limits and discover what I was capable of. But, alas, my opportunities were limited. I became restless, frustrated with my small-house life and tired of the delights that Rotastak had to offer. Exercise and familial devotion was not enough; I wanted more, and had no clue how to get it. “Patience,” my mother preached. “Your time will come.” But I began to feel that my time would never come, and even dared to wonder if I was indeed special, if the greatness my mother had promised was in fact a cruel lie.
It was at the age of one that I feel my life truly began. The time until then had merely been preparation, a bitter mix of anticipation and frustration, of exercise and idleness that seemed unbearable at times but which I now believe was essential. It had given me the best possible training for the task to which I was assigned, my true calling and my shot at greatness. Shortly after my first birthday I was plucked from my dreams and from my cage by a giant hand. Nothing unusual there – I had been held many times before, though admittedly not as often lately as in my youth. I thought little of it, but hoped to be allowed to run about a little and perhaps find my way into the hole in the bottom of the sofa, a feature that I had spotted on an earlier foray and an unbearable temptation. I longed for that secret darkness, but would not reach it that day.
Instead I was taken to a part of the house I had not seen before, up a great cliff-like structure and into a room that was dark and warm, full of strange objects and saturated with human odour. I was placed on a great soft plain, my claws scrabbling on the squashy surface and my brain struggling to process these new surroundings. While I was testing my temporary home and conquering its yielding ridges, the human was hard at work. It had begun to clear a space in the carpet that lay a dizzying height below my perch, and once this had been done a strange contraption was produced. The purpose of this alien device was a mystery to me, but even in my wildest imaginings I could not have foreseen what it would do. To this day I am not sure exactly, but the experience left a permanent scar on my memory, and not an entirely unpleasant one.
Once the contraption had been set up I was picked up once again. The human was talking to me, or at least I assume he was – despite my best efforts I have not learned to understand their language. He was clearly very excited, and his eagerness was infectious. I began to feel that something incredible was about to happen, and I was correct. I was brought to the strange contraption and placed inside a clear bubble, not unlike The Sphere but much smaller. I felt instantly at home in this chamber – The Sphere held many fond memories for me and I assumed that this more personal version would lead to a similar feeling of freedom, perhaps allowing me to roam in places I had not previously been able to reach. The only confusion came from the fact that it was suspended far above the ground. How was I to roll if I could not touch the floor?
I was not to roll. I was to fly. The bubble began to move within seconds of my entry. Not under my own control, as in The Sphere, but entirely automatically and under a truly strange trajectory. It seemed as if I was traveling in great leisurely loops in the air, always in the same direction and at first at an almost soothing speed, pressing me lightly into the bubble’s curved shell. Soon however this gentle pressure became a more forceful pushing, as the speed of the bubble increased, and kept on increasing. The sensation became uncomfortable as I was forced into the rear of the enclosure, until I imagined I had taken the shape of its curved walls. But I did not care. The world around me became a blur, the contents of the strange room turned into a fuzzy mass of colour, a dreamlike sensation that opened my mind and caused a surge of adrenaline that I had never previously experienced, even when I had lost my footing on my wheel and was swept up in its motion. And the sound. The sound was incredible. It built from a gentle rushing, like the breezes I had heard from my cage into a great thrumming, or perhaps a whooshing, which enveloped my senses and did not belong to world I had known. It was the sound of fear, and of adventure.
The epiphany was over before it had begun. No sooner had I adjusted to the joy of flight, I was returned to my cage. Senses buzzing, mind whirling, the hours that followed were the hardest to bear. I had been exposed to the giddy thrill of the adrenaline rush, my mind opened and my horizons widened, only to be incarcerated once again. I wanted to take on the world, but the world was not available. Once again, all I had was the nest, the wheel, the water bottle and the tubes, all too familiar and now suddenly hateful, a symbol of the cruel tricks that life can play. My mother became a stranger to me. Content in her ways, she tried to console me, to make me see the good in our life, but I resented her blinkered world-view, her acceptance of the status quo. How could I achieve greatness and spread the name of Snuggles if I was trapped in this sea of mediocrity, drowning in a whirlpool of broken dreams. I grew depressed, not knowing when, or if, I would experience again the rush of the bubble.
To my great shame I fell prey to a vice that has been the undoing of many a lesser hamster, a practice that I would once have frowned upon, but was now powerless to resist. I began storing food in my cheeks, taking comfort in their fullness, sucking the sweet juices from the oats that filled my pouches, in an attempt to recreate the thrill of that fateful day through lesser pleasures. At first just the odd sunflower seed was sufficient. Just enough to roll around with the tongue, to distract my thoughts from the unobtainable, to know that should I chose it could be gnawed, but not yet, just when I chose to. Before long variety was needed, the simple choice between seed or nut, perhaps a piece of carrot when the desire arose. These trivial decisions took away some of the sense of helplessness, providing an illusion of choice to my restricted existence. But again they grew stale, inadequate. More food was needed to provide the same release, growing seed by seed, flake by flake until my cheeks swelled, and I struggled to hide the signs from my innocent mother. I spat out the contents when she approached, trampling them into the wood shavings, only to reingest as she left, the woody tang a reminder of my shame. My cheeks became sore, my breathing laboured, but I could not stop. I knew it was only a distraction, but as my hope of adventure faded my need for comfort grew, however shallow, however degrading.
Maybe he noticed my growing distress. Maybe he wanted to pick at my torment like a week old scab. Maybe he was simply bored. Whatever the reason, there was one more incident of note before the climax to this story. A dozen long days post bubble, as I began to reach the darkest depths of addiction, I was once again removed from my prison. I was not taken far - I never left the room - but at the same time I was taken further than any hamster had gone before. To the infinite blackness of space, and beyond. The human once more thrust his hand into my cage and held me tight, a grip he would maintain for several hours, though I would scarcely notice. We moved as one to the sofa. He sat down, sighing. I wriggled in his grasp, freeing my trapped front right paw, and fighting for a comfortable position. He stroked me, gently between the ears, and I relaxed. He relaxed with me - we were not to revisit the bubble, the initial twinge of excitement died in my gut. The human opened what my mother refers to as "The Third Window", the strange portal that so often wakes me from my dreams, its lights and sounds filling the room as they had done many times before. For the first time I paid close attention to the mysterious box, having nothing else to do. In doing so I swapped the life of a hamster for one of a human, orange suited and bound for the stars.
Heroic acts, stirring music and enormous machines flashed before my eyes and stirred my soul, immersing me in a world of danger and drama. At first things seemed to be going well. The men were heroes, loved by their families and treated as kings by the rest of the world. They were the bravest, smartest men on the planet, backed by the greatest team of human scientists and near unlimited funding. It seemed that nothing could go wrong, and the sight of those orange-clad men striding towards their shuttle brought a tear to my eye. But, horror of horrors, the joy could not last. There was an explosion, and an oxygen tank burst, and they had to hide in a small part of the spacecraft, and they had an argument, and they had to make an adaptor out of stuff, and they had to slingshot round the moon, and they nearly didn't make it. But they did, and I was so happy I squeaked, just a little bit. It was the best thing I've ever seen, and it made me happy to see that obstacles can be overcome, and even at the darkest moments of our lives there is light up ahead. I wanted to be on that ship, with those men, fighting for survival and getting by on my wits. I wanted the chance to explore new territory, to go where no hamster had gone before. I wanted to be an astronaut, and I knew, deep down inside, that I had seen this for a reason. I, too, was bound for the stars.
I quashed my addiction. With the certain knowledge of interstellar glory came a newfound purpose to my life. I kicked the pouch habit and once again began training, in earnest this time, as I knew only those in peak physical condition are able to launch. Yet the promise of escape also brought me closer to home. I began to look at my cage with new eyes, to appreciate its warmth and its safety. Confined it may be, restrictive and dull, it was my home. The setting for my first steps, my first squeak and my first adult claw. It was all I had known, and for many months it was all I had needed. Most of all, my thoughts turned to my mother. My dear sweet mother, who wanted nothing but the best for her children and encouraged them to get it. My mentor and my soul mate, and my only friend. The thought of leaving her, possibly forever, was nearly too much to bear. How easy it would have been to remain by her side, to live out the rest of her days together in the cage, sustained by her love. But to do so would have done her a dishonour. For the one thing she prized above all else was independence. The courage to strike out on one's own, to take a risk and return a conquering hero or a glorious failure. To immortalise the name of Snuggles. Of course, I may not return home at all. The third window had taught me that, but it had shown me so much more that death became a minor concern. I chose to face my destiny and look it square in the eye.
Finally, it came. The day of reckoning. It began, as many days do, with the sound of rattling bars as the door to my cage was opened. Then came the hand of my owner, purposeful and direct, plucking me from my home without hesitation. My stomach lurched, and I grinned. I knew my moment had come. Something in the speed of my extraction, with no stroking or prodding, told me today was not a day for playing. There was serious work to be done, and I was the hamster to do it. It was a glorious day. The sun streamed through the window and the birds twittered merrily outside. The sun's rays roused me from my lingering torpor and gave me strength, warming me to my bones. My sleep-dusted eyes struggled to adjust to to the light, but though my vision was blurred and my eyes smarted I could see my destination. I was taken through into The Kitchen, dropped into a large cardboard chamber, open at the top, and carried towards the Door. Yes, the Door. The door to the outside world, my route out of this house and, i hoped, this planet, and my life of impotent anticipation.
The fresh air hit me like a juggernaut, filling my lungs and blasting the sleep from my head. Then the light, bright and clean, with a unfiltered purity unseen by my black hamster eyes. Then the sounds: of nature in all her glory, birdsong and rustling leaves; the deeper chatter of passing humans; and the harsh, unnatural, sounds of passing cars. Their engines were much louder than I remembered from the Third Window and seemed to shake the ground as they passed - a taster of the awesome power I would soon experience first hand. I could see little of the world around me, other then a rectangle of sky above, the occasional tree, shocking in its lush complexity, and the face of my owner, smiling to himself as he made his way to our goal. I was outside, for only the second time in my life, still trapped, but also free and part of a world that had been for so long beyond my grasp. I felt at home, and at ease.
I slept most of the way. Running frantically around the chamber in search of a better view and gulping in lungfuls of clean summer air had tired me out. I awoke only when the gentle bobbing motion of my owner's stroll stopped with a jolt. My traveling chamber had been placed on a hard surface in a room with a high sloping wooden ceiling. From the noise around me I guessed that there were many humans in this space, more than I had ever known. They chattered and shouted excitedly, with occasional lulls as a deeper voice called for silence over the clamour. Still unable to see anything other than the rectangle above me I guessed we were in mission control, the base of operations I had seen many nights before. The sounds I could hear were the countless technicians preparing for launch, carrying out the last minute checks and safety routines that were essential for a safe launch. Yes, I thought, I am in safe hands here, the butterflies in my stomach perfectly natural but unfounded, my journey would be as safe as humanly possible. I welcomed though the surge of adrenaline that returned to my system. I would need all of my wits about me for the daunting task ahead.
I have reached the grand finale. Both dramatic and farcical, in one fell swoop it shattered my dreams and gave me new hope. In short, it turned me into the hamster I am today. I was picked up one final time. My claws scrabbled involuntarily, in time with the pounding of my heart. I knew what came next and I was not disappointed. Before me, gleaming under the open skylight above, was my means of escape, the vehicle that would transport me to greatness. The rocket, for that is what is was, dominated the room and demanded attention. Its mirrored surface was perfectly smooth, polished to high shine, and poised upon viciously curved, blood-red, sharks-fin legs. The epitome of focused, pure design, this was an object made for a single purpose - to go upwards, very, very quickly indeed. It screamed power, but not without control when tamed by worthy paws. The cockpit was opened, I was placed inside, and I nestled deep into my captain's chair which, of course, fitted me like a glove. Only one thing felt wrong. There were no controls, or none that I could see. Perhaps they were concealed, or merely invisible to untrained eyes. More likely, and deeply shocking when considered in retrospect, there were none.
A moment of calm first, and a collective gasp. The whole room held their breath, as well they might, but not me as I pounded every surface and searched every corner. "This was not how it was meant to end" I thought, sweat moistening my fur as I imagined the humiliation to follow. Autopilot would only take me so far, without manual control I was powerless and heading for disaster. But the cockpit was smooth, precisely constructed but mocking in its blankness. Try as I might I could find no buttons, no screens, and certainly no joystick to guide my craft among the stars. Defeated and choking back sobs I slumped against the glass. Then the silence ended and mere buttons became unimportant. The engines roared, the cockpit juddered, then takeoff. I was slammed back in my seat and reminded of my time in the bubble - it had prepared me well for the stresses of launch. For a few majestic seconds the rocket rose straight and true and I forgot my fears, I was an astronaut and damn the consequences. I was about to earn my place among those orange-suited heroes, and fulfill my mother's dream of immortalising the proud name of Snuggles and all it represents. And then I hit the ceiling. My craft had missed the skylight by inches and ricocheted off the slanted wooden roof, though thankfully not as a blinding fireball. The cockpit window flew open on impact and I was ejected from my seat, free-falling for a second before my parachute kicked in and I floated gracefully to the ground.
With the jolt of my landing on the polished wooden floor came a jolt of realisation. I was not meant for the stars, I never had been. I had been naive to think that I could cope with the ordeal of manned space flight, and foolish to believe that I was anything but a pawn in the twisted games of my owner. I have come to realise that I was mere ballast, the fluffy public face of a project beyond my control and doomed to failure. I was nothing special, and had been granted this adventure through chance alone. But despite this I feel blessed. I have done things that no hamster has done before, and faced each opportunity with an unflinching stare and a desire to do the best I could. For this I am proud, and I have no regrets. But the best thing of all is that I have learned to love the ordinary, the life I was born into yet longed to escape. When I was taken home I returned to the nest with my head held high. I told my mother where I had been, the whole fantastic tale. She laughed and held me close, and told me "Son, I'm so glad you're home", and I was too. Adventure may be a thrill, but it's no match for a Rotastak with food and water available on demand, a wheel to keep you in shape and a mother to tickle you with her whiskers as she nuzzles your face in the evening.
