My daughter, the Jedi.

I am just gonna come right out and say this.

There are good reasons why this household does not have pets.* Really, really good reasons. Reasons which are reasonable and make a whole lot of sense.

1.) Mr. F. has some crazy allergies to most furry creatures. And generally dislikes the furry creatures he is not allergic to.

2.) We're really not home that much to properly care/train/love/attend to the needs of a living creature which needs large amounts of time devoted to caring/training/loving/attending.

3.) We travel often. Which would generally mean mucho kenneling expenses and very sad furbabies when we are gone.

4.) Let's face it, the grommets are not of the most responsible ilk. On the compass of life, their true north aims more towards the free-wheeling, charming AVOIDANCE of responsibility. And yes, I do what I can to fight it all the way, but seriously? Adding one more battle to the agenda is not high on my list. And frankly, I need things added to MY chore list like I need a roundhouse kick to the head.

5.) We have a bad history with pets. Like the kittens that had to be re-homed once Mr. F. discovered that with the onset of his asthma he also became the unlucky recipient of furry-thing allergies. Or the boxer that we dog-sat in hopes that perhaps we would become it's new family despite Mr. F's dislike of dogs. Or the SIX goldfish that got flushed one after the other despite herculean efforts to save them, resulting in one abandoned fish tank and involuntary shudders from the Princess at the mere mention of "goldfish". (Seriously, it was really that traumatic. I will never allow another goldfish in my house, ever.) Or the incredibly sad encounter with the world's best and most beautiful puppy that I will ever know and not get to love.

See? Lots and lots of really, really good reasons why we do not have pets.

So why can I look over my shoulder and see a Habitrail OVO hamster habitat and hear the rummaging of little rodent feet?

"Why is that?" you ask? Let me tell you. I have no idea why. No. Idea.

Somewhere between the pleading eyes of my offspring and their wheedling voices and shared YouTube videos demonstrating the adorable features of hamsterdom (Curse you, YouTube, and your broccoli-nibbling hamsters!), I caved. I allowed a thought, a mere wisp of favorable consideration enter my mind and the rest was accomplished through pure sorcery and Jedi mind trickery, I assure you. Clearly, I have underestimated the Princess' unity with the Force.

And thus, Hammy has come to live with us. And I have to admit that he's a cute little crapper, with his rusty, fluffy fur and perky round ears and shiny black eyes and sniffy little nose... and fracking sharp teeth. Yes, I have encountered the teeth. (Hammy almost "encountered" the wall.) But we're OK now, Hammy and me. I fed him some cucumber and he's figured out that my finger is not food and that I will not kill, maim or otherwise harm him. In fact, I think he maybe even likes me a bit. At least, he seems to be sending out the "You're pretty cool, Flutterby-chick." vibe. Not that I speak fluent hamster or anything.

So, for the next few years, Hammy's gonna be hanging out with us.

Any bets on who will be cleaning out his habitat??


* Drippy the Bettafish doesn't exactly count as a pet. The little dude thrives on neglect. He's spent the past two years chillin' in his puddle of fishy filth. I don't know who feeds him. I don't. I do clean his tank every month (or so) and he thanks me by making nice little bubble nests. He is a happy, happy fish.