Neurotica
Page 16
When I was young, I had a pet hamster named Morton. I was very fond of Morton, but like all good things, he died one night. The next morning, I was left to deal with his demise. It was a harsh Ontario winter, but my father insisted that he’d dig a hole for Morton and bury him. So out he went, in his parka and boots, digging through two feet of snow and ice before coming anywhere close to the frozen soil.
My father was a dedicated man who liked to dig, but he didn’t have much of a sense of ceremony. He said I could just wrap Morton in some paper towels and drop him into the hole. I insisted that wasn’t good enough for my Morton. I went back into the house to look for something more appropriate. My mother made it clear that her Tupperware was off-limits. Searching through my room, the answer had been right before me all along.
On my desk, I had a fancy toffee tin which I kept all my notes, letters, and Canadian Tire money in. I emptied it without question; it had been called upon for a higher purpose. I went back outside, my father waiting for me at the hole. I said a few parting words, put Morton inside the fancy toffee tin, and carefully lowered him into the ground. My father said it looked good.
I was extremely proud to have given my beloved Morton a burial befitting a hamster of his status. And to this day, I must stress that if you have small pets, it’s a good idea to keep those fancy toffee tins around.
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