Yet again, I was cleaning the 21st Century Cage. As usual, I placed Butterscotch in his ball and left him to explore the floor. Thirty minutes later, I realized it had been a while since I heard the familiar rolling sound of ball against hardwood. Assuming yet again he had lodged himself between door and wall somewhere, I didn’t panic. I placed the clean cage back on the shelf and though it was merely mid-morning for Butterscotch, I was ready for bed.
A quick glance across the room revealed why I hadn’t heard Butterscotch rolling across the floor lately for there sat his overturned hamster ball, the lid several inches away. It had finally happened: Operation Butterscotch Freedom.
In somewhat of a panic yet with great reluctance, I hollered for DH. Ready for bed himself, he was none too happy for the news I delivered. He switched to assassin-mode and set straight to work blocking off doorways and potential escape routes. Next, he donned billy club and search beam (our broom and flashlight) and together we set to work looking under furniture and beneath radiators. When we spotted him, Butterscotch was perched, deep beneath our couch, smugly washing his face. DH lifted the couch and out shot Butterscotch, a la Speedy Gonzales on a cheese run.
“He’s under the altar table! Under the heater! Under the chair! Behind the TV stand!”
Furniture was shifted, lifted, moved and rearranged.
Though our hearts were racing, adrenaline rising and beads of sweat forming on our brows, I can only imagine how comical the scene might have been to a third-party observer. DH found very little to laugh about. On a streak from couch to toy shelf, I intercepted the trajectory and pounced on Butterscotch. Thinking my trap inescapable, I sat up to discover he had evaded me once more. Attempts to catch our pet were like trying to bottle fog.
Finally, in a moment of true DH glory, in a final, mad Butterscotch dash from toy shelf to swivel chair, DH swooped down, swept the furball up, flung open the cage and launched the rodent inside. It is a moment of glory emblazoned in my mind’s eye for years to come; and no doubt, permanently branded our Robo’s barley-sized memory as well.
Butterscotch immediately resumed his routine, heading straight for the hamster wheel where he’s spent the better part of the past 300 nights. It took DH another 90 minutes to wind down from his evening hamster hunt and go to bed.
Christmas marks Butterscotch’s 1st anniversary with us…did I happen to mention, this year we’re getting a cat?