Hestia and ....The Cleaning of Nibbles

I took Christmassy pity on our little hamster, Nibbles, and moved him from the back sitting room (North facing, always Exorcist-chilly) and into our toasty-warm living room.

This proved to be a bit of a mistake because Nibbles likes to be a bit of a Diva as far as his woodshavings are concerned - scraping them up with great gusto and flinging them out of every gap in his cage.  Which means that my Best Room bears more than a passing resemblence to the Baby Jesus's Stable.  Only with tiny hamster poops.


Anyhoo, because he was with me all evening, I noticed that he was starting to get a bit smelly and I asked Sonshine to at least clean the wean's bed out.  Preferably the whole cage.  If he had the time.  Between computer games.  It might be a good thing to clean him out willingly, SO CLOSE TO CHRISTMAS  *hint, hint*

Sonshine nodded vigorously.

And did nothing.

Every day I reminded him to clean out the hamster.

Every day he promised to do it, but somehow, well, something funner got in the way.

Eventually I could stand it no longer and I offered to help.  With guidance and smiles only.  He agreed to the deal and we took Nibbles through to the kitchen and tipped our fat little hamster into his Yellow Ball for exercise while the cage was cleaned.

Sonshine then stood, completely overcome with inertia, at the magnitude of cleaning out a hamster bed 4" in diameter.

'What's the problem?' I asked, rolling my home-made meatballs expertly in my palms at the work surface.

'I don't want to....touch....it,' he admitted.

'Well, put something over your hand so that your precious little fingers don't come into contact with woodshavings damp with hamster wee.  OK?'

This pleased him and I turned my attention back to the meatballs.

Eventually I became aware of him standing behind me at the kitchen bin, poke poke poking at something.  I turned to see what was up.

There he stood, with the hamster's bed over the bin, poking at the damp, stuck contents WITH THE WOODEN SPOON!!!!

'WHATAREYOUDOING???' I yelped, flying over to him and snatching the wooden spoon out of his hand in as friendly and relaxed a way as I could muster without scaring the shit out of him.

'I told you I didn't want to get my hands in it,' he said crossly.

'How do you feel about PUTTING IT IN YOUR MOUTH?' I asked.

'Oh yeah, fair point mum. Fair point.'

I then sat the wooden spoon away from the other dishes, intending to bleach it in something hazardous as soon as I'd finished the meatballs.  By the way, this was my SECOND batch of meatballs that day, so my temper was as frayed as Daisy Duke's shorts during this entire period.

Nibbles had, we then discovered, pooped in his little ball and Sonshine was not happy at the hard rice-grain sized poops getting onto his hamster's fur.  I don't expect Nibbles was that keen either to be fair.  So I scooped out the hamster and took him back through to his cage.

Can you just keep an eye on the meatballs while I pop him back? I asked.

Well. I'll just stop the story there because I am quite sure that you know where it is heading.  The hamster was duly put into his ball.  I came back and completed the meatball dish with a very lovely tomato-based sauce and we sat down at the kitchen table to enjoy a home-cooked meal.  And it was bloody lovely and I felt the warm glow of Hestia Satisfaction. 

The glow disappeared quicker than a politician's promise when I started to wash up the dishes and discovered, to my utter horror, that there was now tomato sauce on the poopy-pee-pee wooden spoon.

Yes, Sonshine had stirred the meatballs  with it.

I never told him.

And we're still alive, so all's well that ends well.

Just don't EVER tell him.  OK?

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