Monday, 25 June 2012

I Want To Break Free

So you know how I said we had gerbils?

We still do.

They’re just not always necessarily in their cage.

They keep gnawing away at it and it’s been in various states of disrepair the last few weeks.

Me and R have been sleeping in her room lately and although this allows us a good night sleep, it also allows the gerbils a whole 8 hours to gnaw relentlessly at their cage without one of its owners throwing a variety of objects at it.

On this particular morning, I had to leave the house at 7am so I could get to work on time. My alarm woke up R, so while she moseyed about the house, I clung to a few more precious moments of sleep, before R shouted at me from my room.

Hmmmm.

Not impressed.

I slunk into my room to find R stood next to an empty cage.

Both G1 and G2 had gone.

…again

…at 6:30 in the morning.


Me and R then spent the next half an hour scrambling round on the floor of my room, rooting through the masses of shoe boxes that I have a habit of accumulating, wildly grabbing at a gerbil whenever it poked its head out from under my bed.

We caught G2, but then of course had no where to put her, as the cage was obviously no challenge to her escaping ways, mainly due to the 2 inch hole they had chewed into the bottom, so she lived in a random plastic box for a while as we hunted for her sister.

Her sister was under my cupboard. I could see her little nose poking out from under it but the delicious gerbil yoghurt drops weren’t tempting her to budge.

As I looked about my room for something to “encourage” her out with, my eyes fell on the clock.

It was 7:05.

It was 7:05 and I was still in my PJs with ridiculous bed hair and unbrushed teeth.


Gross.

I feel like I set a world record for getting ready and out of the house.

But I feel bad.

G1 and 2 our mine and R’s first pets together. We’re ‘sposed to love them. Cherish them. Coo over them, bond over them etc.

Instead we throw biros at their cage when we hear them tearing a new one through the floor.

Not good.


But I feel like hating them has bonded us in another way. Obviously not through cooing and adoration, but through a twisted kind of loathing towards them.

We’d be settling down to sleep and the gerbils would start their fun little game of keeping us up all night. This would end with a very parental rendition of the “it’s your turn” discussion and one of us would brave the cold outside the warm snugly bed and move their cage into the hallway.


They spend a lot of time in the hallway.

But our troubles will soon be over. In a last ditch attempt to re-home the lovely darlings, I rang my Mother.

My Mother is amazing. She can fix anything. And within 5 minutes, she’d found a home for G1 and 2. R and I had been trying for 2 months to get rid of them. But my Mum? 5 minutes. She’s some kind of weird genius.

So anyway, soon G1 and G2 will be whizzing down the motorway to their new owner who lives in my home town. I know the boy they’re going to as well; a 10 year old boy with a fierce, bordering on violent, love for all animals.

No, this isn't him. I just thought he looked sufficiently crazy
 Good luck to them.

At least they’ll have lovely coastal views and a whiff of sea air before being handed over into his vice like grip of adoration.

-T

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