Unfortunately, we were not careful when it came to watching the hamsters during their spaceship travel. Soon after one of these excursions, Butterscotch began to look really, well…fat. We told Mom that she looked fat, and Veterinary Mom made an "O" with her mouth.
Soon, the word was out: Butterscotch was going to have babies.
I was sure that Butterscotch's babies were from outer space, due to her slipper/moon travel. Intently watching the cage each day, I obsessively waited for the alien babies to arrive. Finally, due to my nonstop observation, Butterscotch started popping out little hamsters, and when I excitedly crept up to her cage, I saw two tiny, disgusting, slimy beasts there. No, not what I expected at all. Eyes shut, they resembled squirming goo. Silly Putty.
But I had it all planned -- I was going to teach them distant planet travel, show them the ropes, and the possibilities were thrilling. But then, I looked a little closer, and I discovered something catastrophic. Butterscotch was licking...no...chewing on...no...eating her babies. Horrified, I realized that there may have been more little ones before I entered the scene, that two or three were probably already gone. Mesmerized, bug-eyed, I watched and watched, making sure. Definitely, she was downing them, and it was nasty. Confused, I ran to get Mom.
When Mom observed Butterscotch's behavior, she made this weird face -- a face that flipped between grossed out and over-the-top calm; I suppose that Mom was trying to hide her terror.
It was the first moment that I realized this: Mom had no idea what to do.
I yelled, "Mom! Save the babies!"
Mom shooed me away, but after some time passed, when I returned to the cages, only Butterscotch and Charlie were there. Assuming that Mom saved the babies, I was convinced that they returned to their home planet. I knew all about aliens; the movies explained these topics. But something bothered me. During this whole catastrophic scene, Charlie just hung out, ate, and then ran on his wheel.
Not long after, Butterscotch was missing. We scanned the house – under the couch cushion, the corners of every room, under the sheets, the heating duct. Nada. Then, after a while, we gave up and started sniffing around. Still, nothing. Charlie was intent on the wheel, but after a few weeks, he disappeared as well. And so did the cages.
But soon, a black toy poodle appeared in place of the hamsters. Pepper. Pepper lost her shit with a delivery man, and then she took out part of my brother’s leg, and then Pepper disappeared. So, a white Maltese, Tater (aka Mrs. Potato Head), appeared in her place. (My name choice). Tater stuck around for about 100 years. Even when she only had one toe left, Tater was still alive.
To this day, when asked about Butterscotch, Mom changes the subject or starts running the disposal. She even swears that Charlie's name was Caramel, Biscuit, or something cute and edible. But now that I'm mature, due to years of intense therapy, I've uncovered the real story, which is this: Pepper is living on a farm with a loving old lady, Tater's foot is still breathing and comforting a baby, Butterscotch hitched a ride on a spaceship and joined her children on their home planet, and Charlie fled the U.S. to continue his career as a salesman/gigolo.
All growing up, Mom tried to protect me from pain, and Dad was missing.
Aye, it's all right to dig in, to remember, to discover the clues to the past, but sometimes, with parents, when mulling over strange, uncomfortable, questionable scenes, I have to remember one key thing -- they did the best they could. They still are doing the best they can. I'm forty-seven, and most of the time, I have no idea what I'm doing. If I had a child, I'd totally be winging it most of the time.
But I have learned one important thing. I suppose I can take a break from spending my life seeking Charlies, who are in another country, running on a wheel.
But I have learned one important thing. I suppose I can take a break from spending my life seeking Charlies, who are in another country, running on a wheel.
C.A. MacConnell
