These are my new baby girls… Tomasina and Hunca Munca. After the sad demise of Sanchez I rather missed the whirring wheel and the patter of tiny feet in the corner of the kitchen. He was my late night writing companion before the man returned from his travels. So… today we purchased his replacements- gerbils- a lot cuter and less smelly than old Sanchez. (sorry mate, I know you’re hardly cold in your grave, but the truth is often a cruel place.)
Isaac and Michelle bought two males last week, one for him to take back to Leeds and one for me… He named his Sanchez jnr, (somewhat unimaginative, I know) and I named mine Mr Rochester. But after much internet based research he discovered they really don’t like to be alone, so we couldn’t split them up. Hence, they both travelled up to Leeds by train in a large holdall (and a cage, of course) on Sunday, and I was left with an empty nest which was crying out to be filled. They spotted two females at the pet shop and I knew they would be just right for me.
This evening I let them loose on the table. Sanchez used to love running around, exploring, scooting in and out of the triangular tunnel formed by my iPad cover, skittering across my keyboard, nibbling sunflower seeds I’d just hidden for him and on Saturday night we’d let Sanchez and Mr Rochester have some table-top fun too, so I was quite relaxed about letting my girls free. However, within fifteen seconds of letting them loose I heard a soft plop as Tomasina leapt over the edge and scurried off under the vegetable rack. Shit… It took me half an hour of (im)patient leg-cramping-kneeling watching her hiding in the corner amidst potatoey dust balls and otto hair, a new loo-roll innard and a trail of sunflower seeds before I could entice her back into her little house.
Since then they’ve been completely hyper, running amock, scratching sawdust everywhere, turning over their house, climbing up their cage and leaping from the top of their wheel, burrowing great piles of fluff and shredded loo-roll into a vast nest and hanging off the roof bars like tiny cat burglars. Very entertaining, I must say.
FYI Mr Rochester has been renamed Jam. Is the literary connection just my thing, or is it, perchance, that pragmatic Northern sensibility? Isaac said he could only remember the mister bit and Jam seemed to suit him better…
This was my favourite story when I was a little girl and for some reason the line, “the fish was glued to the dish…” used to make me giggle uncontrollably. I note with some dismay that particular line is missing from this animation but it’s still rather lovely.