The Hamster (It\'s a essay about a personal experience)

George Lagos

The Hamster

“Is it dead? What happened!” I said as I rolled my sister’s hamster around in it’s
little cage. It was a Sunday evening when I said these words, I was all alone, and I was
very confused. I didn’t know what I was going to do at that point. The only person who
I could talk to and help me out in this situation was a friend that I had been talking to for a
few minutes. My friend also did not know what I should do. I poked the poor creature
several times to see if it still had any life left in it. Instead of waking up and moving about
its cage, the hamster lay there motionless, like a little stuffed animal. I sat there in the
living room, talking on the phone, and examining the hamster’s cage. My little sister’s
hamster had died while it was under my care.
My parents had gone to San Fransisco for the weekend, and instead of staying at
my grandparents’ house like my parents recommended, I decided to stay at home. Both of
my sisters went to my grandparents’ house, so I had the whole house to myself. I even
had some company: my sister’s hamster. I was the hamster’s sole caretaker. Without
me, it would starve, die of thirst, or somehow find a way to escape the confines of its little
cage and wreak havoc throughout my parents’ house. Because I’ve never taken care of a
hamster before, my sister had to tell me how I was to take care of her hamster. I was to
feed it, make sure there was plenty of water, play with it, and give it some exercise by
putting it inside of a plastic ball and let it run around inside of it for exercise Simple, or so
I thought...
The first day went smoothly, and the hamster was doing its hamster thing: eating,
drinking, and running like crazy inside of its hamster wheel. At certain times of the day I
would put the hamster in the little plastic ball so that it could run around freely. While the
hamster did this, I would watch TV, eat a snack, or talk on the phone with a friend, as the
little hamster ball ran into walls. After several bags of chips and a pizza, the first day had
passed without any problems, and I went to sleep.
The next day I woke up and headed upstairs to the kitchen to eat some breakfast.
After a tasty bowl of Trix, I headed over to the hamster cage. As I peered inside, I
noticed that the hamster wasn’t moving. I observed the hamster for a few minutes, and
then I decided that the hamster was asleep. I put some food in the cage, checked the
water, and went about my business until it was time for me to go to sleep.
On the third and last day of my freedom from my family, I did what I usually
would do on the previous two days: I got up, ate breakfast, and walked to the hamster
cage. As I observed the hamster again, using my great powers of deduction, I found the
truth: The hamster was dead. At first I didn’t believe it. I began to go into a small state
of panic. There were questions running through my mind that I could not answer at that
specific moment in time. “Is it dead?” “What will my sister say?” “Will my sister ever
trust me?” I was scared. I didn’t know why I was scared, or how I was going to deal
with my sister in the immediate future. The worst of my hamster experience happened
very quickly after I discovered the dead hamster. The phone call. Uh oh...
Shortly after the hamster’s death, my mom called, and asked me how everything
was going. Unfortunately, she asked me about the hamster, so I decided to tell the truth
instead of making up some excuse. My mom wasn’t very surprised, and she told me to
get rid of the hamster, so I buried it. I was really pissed and very sad. I think that I was
also scared because I was going to have to tell my little sister what had happened. In fact,
shortly after I buried the little guy, my sister called me from our grandparents’ house. The
very first thing that she asked