Once there was a tiny orange hamster that was loved by two little girls. Their Father plopped down $5 for him because the girls longed for a furry type of pet, in addition to their fish. For weeks and weeks the girls enjoyed the hamster. And the hamster was happy.
Or so the Father thought.
Early this morning, as the Father was writing in his journal and reading The Upper Room, the hamster noticed that his cage door was loose. “Freedom,” he/she/it thought. “I can explore the world! I can cruise little mouse babes and run with the bulls in Spain! Oh, the places I’ll go!” And with these devious thoughts, he left the comfort of his deluxe cage—with its food, soft bedding, exercise wheel and flat-screen television—and scampered quietly onto the carpet.
A while later, the Father finished his devotional time. “I think I’ll look at the hamster,” he thought. He glanced down at the cage, and—alas!—it was wide open. The hamster was gone. With the little girls still asleep, the Father crawled on his hands and knees throughout the entire downstairs of the house, exploring every nook and cranny. The hamster was nowhere to be seen. Finally, he gave up the search. The little girls awoke and took up the quest. They remained cheerful, confident they would find their wayward pet.
The family went to work and school. Hours later, the girls and the Mother returned first. Other girls from the street came over to help. The hamster still was not found.
The Father returned at last from work. He paced the kitchen, his instincts blazing. He went into the laundry closet, and peered behind the dryer.
He saw something orange, wiggling.
“This stinks,” thought the hamster. “There’s nothing to eat out here. There’s no hot mice I can chase. There’s not even three blind mice. What was I thinking, leaving the secure home of the cage purchased by my Father? Even the ants that always show up in the kitchen in the springtime have more access to food than I have.”
Suddenly, the dryer was dragged from its place. The eldest daughter stood nearby, and the Father told her to be prepared to snatch the hamster and return him to his cage. Alas! The squishy dryer vent came loose from the back of the dryer and the opening in the floor. “Grab him!” the Father gently, patiently and lovingly ordered the daughter. She scrambled for her pet, which flailed about like a fumbled football in a rain-soaked championship bowl game. The hamster panicked. He fell into the hole. The daughter cried. The Father did not cuss, neither under heaven nor under earth.
The house felt the painful sting of defeat. The family’s furry pet had gone gently into that good night.
Or so it seemed.
The Father and the daughters went outside, to where the long dyer tunnel ended with three flaps that allowed for air and general regurgitation of lint onto the front lawn. For an hour or more they tried to goad the hamster out. The eldest daughter inserted a carrot. The carrot disappeared.
Night fell. The Mother had the suggestion of turning on the dryer. The eldest daughter protested. The Father thought it was a delightful idea. The Father pointed a flashlight toward the chasm, kneeling in the wet grass, as hot air blew against him and lint affixed itself to his contact lenses. The hamster approached the light, peeking through the flaps. It hesitated. The Father encouraged it to come to the light. The eldest daughter kneeled nearby. The hamster came closer. It peered over the edge. It was halfway out, hesitating.
Bravely, the Father reached into the flaps and knocked the hamster to the ground.
A mad scramble ensued. The hamster was tempted a final time with the allure of the world. “GET IT! GET IT! GET IT!” the Father soothingly, tenderly and adoringly implored his daughter. The crowd was hushed. Time stood still. Motion slowed. At last the daughter held the hamster in her hands, and ran inside to deposit him in the once-abandoned cage. Her little sister screamed with delight.
“I’m home,” the hamster sighed in relief. “I’ll never, ever run away again.”
As the family celebrated, the Father noticed the pet fish looking rather cross. He peered closely into the tank. The fish stared back, as if to say, “I’ve been a loyal pet to your family for two years. I’ve never tried to run away. But suddenly this rodent arrives, and gets all the attention. You love him like a child, and you’ve never even let me have a piece of coral to enjoy with my friends. And today he stresses all of you out, and when you find him you treat him like royalty. As if!!!”
The Father was taken aback. He started to speak to the fish, and then wondered if he’d breathed in too much lint.
“Fish,” he thought, “everything I have is yours. My girls adore you and feed you every day. But we must celebrate, because this rodent brother of yours was dead and is alive again. He was lost, and is found.”