My son’s hamster, Rascal, went to the big squeaky wheel in the sky a few days ago or wherever it is that non-denominational rodents go.

Rascal was about three years old which is about the maximum shelf life of a hamster. Shelf life is the appropriate term for Rascal as he lived in a glass cage atop my son’s bookshelf. In three years he made two escape attempts but only made it as far as the kitchen pantry both times where he was apprehended nibbling on a bag of potato chips. Both times he gave up without a fight and returned peacefully back to his cage. Someone other than me returned him peacefully to his cage.

If I would have been home alone, I would have just moved his wheel into the pantry for him to work off the potato chips after he had eaten his fill. I don’t touch hamsters on purpose. Besides Rascal tried to attack me twice when we first got him so I was always a little on edge around him.

I remember the incident well. He was knocking off a few laps on his wheel, and I was peering through the glass wall of his cage, analyzing his gait, when he suddenly hopped off the wheel and made a viscous lunge for me. Thankfully the glass held, thwarting his attack and saving my life. I can still see the maniacal look in his beady little eyes as he bounced off the glass wall, gathered himself and made another go at it.

What should have been a highly entertaining experience was quite terrifying. I mean, it should be funny when something runs at you and smacks into a glass wall making a satisfying “thunk” and it falls to the ground and tries it again with the same “thunk.” I would have been laughing hysterically if it had been anything but a hamster. Hamsters aren’t supposed to bum rush humans.

Anyway, that incident sort of put a strain on Rascal and my relationship. So, if he wanted to sneak out of his cage and make poor nutritional choices who was I to get in his way? With his passing I’ll let bygones be bygones and forgive Rascal. I’m sure it was all a big misunderstanding.

Jackson took Rascal’s passing pretty hard and shed a few tears for his fallen roommate and I was sad for Jackson because I know what it’s like to lose a pet. The first pet I cried for was our cocker spaniel, Rufus, that Mom ran over on her way to church. I guess Rufus wasn’t Catholic. Actually, he was fine until Mom backed up to see what happened and ran over him again. Oh, I’m just kidding…he was Catholic.

I think it’s good for kids to have pets, to have something that depends on them for food, water, and shelter. To have something be a part of your life and then die is a good learning experience. An experience I would rather they have with a crazed killer hamster than let’s say, me, for instance.

Rascal was a good pet and it’s sad to see his wheel sit in silence, but I believe my son is a better person for having known him, so I guess, “Thank you, Rascal” is in order.