the first thing I did! The first bloody thing! Yet now here I am, racing around on Christmas Eve in a panic, exactly like I didn’t want to be.
I park the car, sprint along the pavement to the pet shop, and stop dead with shock. Closed. Closed. It can’t be closed. How can they close a pet shop on Christmas Eve? What about all the last-minute hamsters?
I rattle at the door, just in case, but I know it’s fruitless. As I turn away, I’m almost gibbering with panic, and an old lady with a shopping trolley looks at me curiously.
“There’s a pet shop in Bickersly, dear,” she says. “Woodford Street. You could try that.”
“Right!” I say. “Thanks!”
I don’t even know where Bickersly is, but I can find it on satnav. I follow a weird route through villages I’ve never seen before and find myself in a small side road with three shops in a tiny parade. One’s called Pete’s Pets, and the lights are on. Thank God, thank God.
As I dash in, I can’t help feeling dubious. The only pet shops I’ve been in before, with Suze, have been large and open-plan and wholesome-looking. This one is staffed by a guy covered with tattoos, who looks like he probably breeds the hamsters for use in satanic rituals. But I don’t exactly have a choice, so I approach him with a polite smile.
“Hello, Mrs. Santa,” he says with a smirk, eyeing my outfit up and down.
“Hello,” I say. “I’d like—”
“We’re closing soon,” he interrupts flatly. “You’d better be quick.”
“No problem. I’d like a hamster. And a cage. And food,” I add as an afterthought. “And whatever a hamster needs.”
“OK.” He nods. “What kind of hamster?”
“The…hamster kind.”
He gives me a look and leads me to a plastic cage full of hamsters in individual partitions, squirming about and eating food and doing hamster things. “Take your pick.”
“Right,” I say, trying to sound keener than I feel.
I mean, they’re basically rodents. I’m choosing to introduce a rodent into my house. But Minnie will love it, I remind myself. I have to focus on that.
I wonder what color she’d like. Maybe Luke could subtly find out? I get out my phone to call him—but there are no bars on my display. Drat.
“Yeah, our signal’s dodgy,” says the guy. “So which one do you want?”
I peer at the hamsters, trying to see them through Minnie’s eyes.
“Maybe that one,” I say, pointing to a beige one.
“That’s a male Syrian hamster. Want to have a closer look?”
He picks it up and proffers it to me—and I try to suppress my revulsion. “You ever looked after a hamster before?” he adds with a narrowed glance.
“Er…no. But I’ll follow all the guidelines,” I say hurriedly. “I’ll take good care of it. I promise.”
He gestures for me to take the hamster, and gingerly I do so. It’s furry and snuffly and scrabbly, with really sharp claws.
“Argh!” I say, as the hamster suddenly ends up on the table and starts running away.
“Don’t bloody let go!” says the guy in consternation, scooping the hamster back up.
“I didn’t mean to!” I say, mortified. “Sorry. It just took me by surprise.”
“You shouldn’t buy it if you can’t handle it,” he says disapprovingly, and I feel a spike of panic. Is he going to say I’m inappropriate to be a hamster owner? Is there some test and I’ve failed?
“I can,” I say fervently. “I can handle it. I promise.”
“OK, so hamster, cage, bedding, food…” He pauses. “You want any accessories?”
My head pops up in interest. Ooh. Accessories?
The guy shows me to a shelf of stuff, and I get quite excited. Who knew hamsters had so much gear? I choose an exercise ball, a “hamster cottage,” and a really cool tube contraption for the hamster to scamper about in. And I’m just dithering over a hamster seesaw when a terrible thought strikes me: My shopping delivery. My turkey. Shit. In all the flurry, I totally forgot. It’s coming in half an hour. I need to get home, pronto.
“OK,” I say hastily. “I’ve chosen. Done.”
I pay, then take everything out to the car in several journeys, because it’s pretty bulky. The last thing to take out is the hamster itself, in its cage, and I’m about to lift it up off the floor when I have an idea. I’ll take a quick picture and text it to Luke! I need to practice handling it, anyway.
I get down on my knees, reach for the squirmy little thing,