Sweet wee Molly the Dwarf Hamster passed away last night. She was around two and-a-half years old, which is right about the time they go kaput. Kind of like replicants in that regard.
This beloved critter was not actually named after our equally beloved friend Molly the Human, a.k.a. Undead Molly, but we’ve always gotten a kick out of their shared appellation.
Molly the Dwarf Hamster will live on, not just in our hearts, but in the story I wrote for a pet issue of that alt-newsweekly I used to work for. One day in an editorial meeting, I made the mistake of talking rather excitedly about our then-new-ish pet. (Note to aspiring journos: don’t ever speak passionately about anything in an editorial meeting — they will make you write about it). At the time, I feared the article would deal a severe blow to my cynical music writer credibility, but I’ve since made my peace with it. Especially now that our furry lass has gone to the Great Excercise Wheel in the Sky.
MTDH had a curious relationship with our handsome bear of a cat, Brando. She was the Ann Darrow to his King Kong. One popular party trick they both liked to perform involved Molly running up and down the length of Brando’s body. Sometimes she’d even sit on his head. He never once swatted at her. Actually, he was fond of prostrating himself in front of her cage, rolling over to expose his big, beautiful belly in a way that can only be described as sensual. Yes, it was a little weird.
There will never be a dwarf hamster quite like Molly. We’ll miss you, baby.
In other news, the medium-rise building across the street is on fire. I’ll post pictures later.