I Lose Again

Well, add losing an argument to the ways in which my mental faculties prove inadequate to dominate those of a hamster.

In case you need to know why Odysseus and I are feuding, it is because our hobbies and tastes are essentially diametrically opposed to one another. For example...

- I like to read, whereas Odysseus has apparently given it up in favour of interpretive dance.

- I prefer a Starbucks mocha frappuccino or a warm Australian cabernet to what I consider Odysseus' somewhat gauche tepid-water-and-diarrhea-medicine cocktail.

- I prefer Mississipi blues, where Odysseus shows clear disdain for any non-Tennesseean Bluegrass variety of vinyl.

- Odysseus prefers the pumpkin seeds, I prefer the green pellets.

- I believe Plotinus' concept of the Neoplatonic intellectual beauty is not entirely without merit, whereas Odysseus accepts the Derridean deconstruction of the metaphysics of presence.

- Odysseus can straight-up B-Boy it Oakland style, whereas I break it down on the 313.

- Odysseus enjoys heating his sleeping pod by mixing his shit in with the wood chips like Raisin Bran until it stinks so God damn bad after only two days even a hamster won't sleep in it, whereas I prefer FOR HIM TO NOT!

That last one is pretty much the one I have problems with these days.

So I decide to get Odi (I've decided to supplant the 'y' signifier with an 'i' in the abbreviated form of his name because I get a quiet satisfaction out of calling him 'hatefulness' in Latin... I mean, because of the dog in Garfield... Heh, heh... I swear I don't talk like this) a nest to live in, in addition to his pod: one small enough and free enough of wood chips that the lj-cut issue may no longer apply. One area for one bodily function, one for another. It is essentially a wickerlike ball with several super-fun holes in and out of which Odi can climb, as hamsters do love 'em the climbin'.

The problem, of course, rests in Odi disliking most enclosed spaces, and being entirely enamoured of misappropriating my goodwill. The nest has become his personal Indiana Jones trap. He puts his hands up on the nest-ball like a dung beetle, and back and forth he rolls it, back and forth, knocking over the spout for his water bottle, the struts on his wheel, blocking his food dish... It provides my hamster will all the destructive torque he desires, while requiring none of the necessary bodily mass. THANKS, CANADIAN TIRE! (oooooOOOOOooooo, it staaaarts with pooo-ooo-oo.)

After the third straight night of a random CRASH glug glug glug drip drip drabbbbble, I had decided this was quite enough BALL OF FUN for everyone. I opened the cage, which Odysseus (intrepid explorer and holder of an absolute faith in my catching skill that he is) took to mean running-around-the-apartment time. As usual, he began his ascent out of the cage, but paused, when he realized the Great One's hands were not prepared for him. What was the Great One up to?

He swivelled just in time to catch my deft attempt to grab the nest of doom. Fiercely as a threatened mother, he dove back into the cage (sprawling everywhere, having no concept of 'gravity' or 'fall') and bit into the nest hard.

"No, Great One," he seemed to say with his eyes. "This trespass shall not be brooked."

So I reefed on it, and he reefed back. There was a lot of reefing. He was surprisingly strong, and was pulling against my banged-up left hand with all his fury, and I was mortified to discover I was spending a Friday night wrestling with a hamster.

And losing.

I let go, determined to get it later, and the JOY of his victory prompted Odysseus immediately to roll the ball away from me, into the ladder to the second floor of his cage, knocking it down. (I hate it when he does this because it's such a pain to put back up and this is where he knows to get his soft nesting material.)

"Oh, I get it," I actually said out loud. "If I try to take the nest out, you're going to trash this place worse, huh? Well, champ, guess that means you will be living in a wrecked place!"

He looks back at me with big black eyes that said - verbatim - Martin, I am a God damn hamster. Modus ponens is beyond me.

"Look, you little bastard," I responded to his silence, actually hoping my tone would explain that he needs to give up the nest, "if you keep wrecking your stairs, you'll never get to go back to the second floor!"

Then, victory for all hamsterkind. A coup de grace to be celebrated for all time in the annals of rodent lore. Odysseus climbed atop his nest, scrambled, fell off, landed headfirst in woodchips, popped back up, sniffed deeply into his food dish, then looked directly - directly - into my eyes.

Dude, he said, I will not remember the second floor five minutes from now. I don't know who I am, where I'm going, I'm even starting to question whether or not I have a food- oh yeah, I do have a food dish - whatever it was that you were going to take away from me will cause you DAYS of agony. I won't know why I'm angry, I won't know why I just must puke in my food or throw my crap outside the bars. I will just do it. Again and again and again because it's always new and always the only thing on my mind. And you, you with your object-permanence and your capacity for teleological memory will remember... Remember the shit I put you through yesterday, and the day before, and before, and project the coming misery of tomorrow, and the next day, and the next... That is why I will always beat you, Martin. Because I'm faster, and I can get away from you if I have to. So HATE THYSELF, Martin, for you may have stopped my escape attempt THIS TIME, but NEXT TIME I shall run faster on the wheel until you're really having trouble sleeping like I sometimes do when it smells too much in my room right now to sleep in it; I think I'll sleep upstairs in my hey my ladder is broken where did it lead guess it's a chew toy now OH BOY A NEW CHEW TOY I LOVE YOU MARTIN

Sigh. Victory by the strategic employment of a predisposition against long-term memory or planning.

Odysseus for President in '08!

Lie of the day: A boiled perogy is completely indistinguishable from a clam fetus