Overeating had put me not so much to sleep as into a stupor—evidently, or the opening of the door would have alerted me instantly. As it was, his hand was round me before I knew what was what.
I jumped. He jumped. I was the last thing he was expecting to touch and I suppose he thought I might nip him. I made a blundering dash for the hole in the back, but he was quicker.
“Got you, you little devil!”
I had never been picked up by the scruff of the neck before. Horrid indignity! Beastly discomfort! Dangling there with my back legs kicking, not able to use my teeth even if I’d been inclined to! He carried me at arm’s length out of the room, up the stairs, into a room that I suppose was Ben’s, and shut me securely into my cage.
Did I say securely? Well, no. Not really. Because nobody had bothered to tell him about the need for a pile of books on top of the second story, and so five minutes after he had left the room, I was out.
The scent of that female was now very strong. Maybe I would just have a look at her. After all, she couldn’t get at me—she would be in a cage and I was not. I crept out of the room, following her scent, entered another room, and immediately encountered her prison.
It was on the floor straight in front of me. An ordinary cage with a wire front and metal walls. She lay asleep in a corner of it, half covered with wood shavings. Her multicolored side rose and fell delicately as she slept. I could see one little soft, round ear just twitching alluringly.
How sweet she looked lying there! How touchingly innocent, how adorable, how unaggressive! I crouched by the wire mesh, gazing and gazing at her. I forgot her savage attack on me, or rather, I couldn’t believe in it. I just longed and longed to be in there with her, her established and acknowledged mate.
I had heard a great deal about Love while living with my family. I had grown up in the knowledge that they loved each other, despite all the shouting and quarreling that went on. I came more or less to understand that it was a deep feeling of wanting to be with someone, of knowing that somehow you belonged to each other. It was something I never expected to feel myself—I thought that hamsters, being naturally solitary and freedom-seeking, would be incapable of such an attachment, which must bind you to a fellow creature as surely as you are bound to a miserable, limited, dependent existence inside a cage.
But now, looking at Oggi, I knew something of Love. I knew the desire to get close, instead of my usual desire, which was to get away.
I stayed there for hours, mesmerized by her beauty.
Suddenly she opened her little black beady eyes.
The moment she saw and smelled me, she leapt to her feet in one jerky movement and crouched there, facing me. All illusion of innocence and mildness vanished. She lifted her lip and showed her teeth to me—she even chattered them a bit, just in case I hadn’t got the message. I backed off a little before I could control myself (the bite she’d given me still smarted), but then, remembering she couldn’t get out, I crept boldly back, my eyes fixed on her. I was not going to let any cheeky little patch-coated she-hamster see she had me scared.
Hamsters cannot communicate with each other by voice, but they can send signals. I now sent a very simple, primitive signal that I knew she would understand even if she was stupid:
I want to mate with you.
Swift as thought, she sent me one back!
Nothing doing. Be off.
Well, this was a blow, but I was not to be daunted this time by any fear of humiliation. I was determined. So I sent:
You’re very beautiful and I’m going to mate with you whether you like it or not.
(This would doubtless seem high-handed to a human being, but a buck has to be firm with his doe. Does don’t appreciate halfheartedness; you have to show them who’s boss.)
Her reply was:
You can’t anyway. There’s no way into my cage.
But I noticed she wasn’t chattering her teeth anymore.
I sent: Leave that to me. I sent this with a (I admit) rather cocky little flick of my whiskers. How I would get in, I hadn’t a clue, but she didn’t know that. She just saw that I had confidence, that nothing was going to stand between us, not even metal walls and wire mesh. To my joy I saw her relax, just a fraction. Her lip came down, covering those teeth, and—no, I wasn’t mistaken—a softer look appeared in those little shiny black eyes. She even moved fractionally nearer to me.
If she had been at all clever, she might have sent a question now, as to how I meant to get to her, but she wasn’t clever and I didn’t want her to be. I didn’t want an intellectual challenge; I wasn’t looking for a partner in life, or a like-minded companion. I wanted a mate. This one and no other. And I meant to have her.
I stepped boldly to the mesh and sent, Come close. Smell me. You’ll like me when you get used to my smell.
Now she had lost her aggression, she was shy. She wouldn’t come at first. But I sent soothing, inviting signals and at last she edged closer and closer until our noses were touching through a mesh hole. Not actually touching—just quivering, so close that the hairs vibrated together. Delicious ecstasy! Better than chocolate, better than the air Outdoors, better than staring up in reverence at my round, white God in the sky. How grateful I was to have learned about Love so that I could understand my situation and my feelings!
Suddenly she sent, Come on then, what are you waiting for?
Good Moon, what was I to do now? How could I make good my recent boast? I backed off slightly and gave her cage a quick once-over. Not a hope. Everything, as the man said, right and tight—not a bit of torn wire or a loose corner to be seen. Nothing for it but a bit of bluff, so I sent:
Patience, doe! All in good time.
Looking rebuffed, she retreated to her sleeping corner and turned her back on me. Can’t blame the poor little thing really. I felt like such a fool. I must make a plan.
Two opposite impulses now tugged at me. The first, my usual one, was to make myself scarce; my time sense, which I had been developing lately, told me that it was nearly time for Ben to come home from school. The opposite impulse said, No. Stay here, near Oggi’s cage. Ben will find you and realize the situation. He wants Oggi bred. He’ll put you in with her, and then—happy days!
So that’s what I did. I just crouched by the cage, and after a short time I heard Ben coming up the stairs. Oh, how I had to fight down all my usual escape instincts! But Oggi was staring at me again, waiting to see what I would do, and so I managed just to sit tight.
In he came, looking gloomy, but not for long. His face positively lit up when he saw me, and with a whoop that would have sent me shooting off if I had not made my decision, he pounced on me.
“Houdini! Houdini!” he cried, and did a clumsy sort of dance round the room, holding me in front of him, jouncing and bouncing till I felt quite queasy. I did wish he wouldn’t, in front of my female too—it was too undignified for words. But at last he stopped dancing and brought me close to his face. His boy breath was not as congenial to me as Mark’s, but I put up with it.
“What are you doing in here, you little devil?” he asked. “Want another go at her, do you? Okay then.”
Really, how boys express themselves these days! Too gross.
He opened the wire and put me inside the cage.
“Watch it, now, Houdikins,” he said roguishly. (Houdikins indeed!) “Don’t let her see you off so easy this time!”
She didn’t “see me off,” but neither was she very forthcoming, and I was glad of that. No public performances for me, thank you! We just sat at opposite sides of the cage looking at each other and I sent signals about waiting till we were alone, which she evidently agreed with, bless her modest little heart. At long last Ben got fed up.
“Just remember what the hamster book says,” he grumbled to me. “After you’ve done it, keep clear of her. She’s as bad as a black widow spider—she’ll have your guts for garters if you don’t look out.”
With that he took off, calling ahead of him,
“Mom! Could you come up and keep an eye on the hamsters while I run over and get Mark? I think they’re going to mate!”
But his Mother must have been busy just then, or maybe she had some decent instincts, because she left us alone for—well, to be honest I rather lost track of the time, what with one thing and another. But it was long enough.
Chapter 11
Well! A human male, I believe, would now call himself well wedded and bedded, but it’s different for us hamsters. The moment our union was complete (and though I have no wish to be indelicate, I must say that the experience was by no means a disappointment to either of us), a total change of mood came over Oggi and me. We began to fight. Oh, not savagely, just rather playfully, but we were each making it clear to the other that we were independent creatures who, for the moment at any rate, had no wish to waste more solitary time being together.
Her nips and scratches were not humiliating to me now. I would have hated it if she had got possessive and started clinging around me. She was “seeing me off,” as Ben put it, in the way of our kind, and nothing could have suited me better or made me respect her more. Dim in mind she might be, poor thing, but all her hamster instincts were functioning properly. In a word, she pleased me, and though all thoughts of Love had vanished, I was well satisfied with the whole episode.
Our little battle had no time to get out of hand, for Ben’s Mother soon arrived, suitably gloved, and separated us. I was put back in my cage, where, feeling excessively tired (it was, after all, the middle of the day, not normally my active time), I was quite glad to retire to my loft and drop off to sleep, after giving myself a good grooming.
I must have been even more tired than I realized. I was aware of some swaying and other movements, but I was quite astonished, on waking, to find myself back in my former home. Peering out of my loft, I saw that my escape route had been cut off—the boys, evidently informed of my escapades at Ben’s, were taking no chances and had heaped so many books on the top of my cage that ten hamsters couldn’t have shifted them.
I spent uncountable days imprisoned. The boys fed me and kept my water bottle refilled but I was not let out at all. I did my best to persuade them, by standing on my hind legs every time they came near and reaching my forepaws through the ventilation bars, or pushing my nose through in what I hoped was a beseeching fashion, but they were not to be moved. The Father must have made his views very clear on the subject of what would befall the next boy who allowed me to escape.
I was not idle. One must never be idle, even in prison—perhaps especially not there, when one can so easily fall into depression and allow mind and body to stagnate. I found plenty to do.
Instead of moping, I followed this sensible routine: On waking from my day’s sleep I would groom myself, have a light snack, and give myself some healthy exercise on my wheel. Then I would shift my bedding around to air it, sometimes moving it down from the loft to another part of the cage for a change. I would sort over my store of feed, placing special tidbits like nuts or sunflower seeds aside so that I could treat myself occasionally.
Then I would settle down to learn.
I did this primarily by listening to, and observing, the humans around me. Their behavior and conversation taught me a great deal.
I also watched television. The boys had a little black-and-white set of their own in the room (Guy’s) where I most often was, and I liked to sit and gaze at it in the evenings. Regrettably, the boys’ tastes are not as elevated as mine. I would have relished more documentaries, especially animal ones, but alas! These often clashed with things called rock shows, a deplorably lowbrow form of entertainment, which frankly bored me stiff, but the boys reveled in them and would never switch over to the more intellectual offerings until the last song had been squawked and the last drum beaten to death.
The remainder of my time, in the dead of night, was spent as you would expect—in trying to devise escape plans.
I thought if I could shift that roof the least fraction, the heavy books might slide off, and I tried it, but after nearly straining my back, I had to give up. I worked long and hard on the plug to the entrance hole, but it was no use—I just couldn’t budge it.
So then I had to content myself by thinking and dreaming of what I would get up to when at last they relented and let me out. I never let myself doubt that it would happen. Nobody could be so cruel as to keep me caged up forever, for they knew my nature now—they knew what I craved. What they did not know was that I now craved freedom Outdoors as well as in.
No, I had not forgotten my hair-raising adventure with the cat. (It was, incidentally, only during this period, while watching a children’s program, that I discovered the name of my persecutor, and that, far from hating the breed, most children love them. It appalled me to see those nice, unsuspecting people on the screen actually petting and caressing the brutes as if they were as worthy of human devotion as—well, as I am myself! Shocking misplacement of affection! Unmerited reward for an evil, deceitful nature!)
No, I had not forgotten. But now I knew of the danger, I felt convinced I could be on my guard against it. A hamster who lives Outdoors, I realized, must have eyes on the top of his head. While in my cage, I practiced glancing quickly upward without cricking my neck, as well as performing swift little turns and leaps in all directions. I finally managed a complete half-turn in one jump. The one thing I couldn’t practice, and this worried me, was long-distance sprinting. I knew I would get out sometime. I wanted to be ready.
In the end my patience and faith were rewarded.
One day, during school hours, the Mother came to clean up Guy’s room, which desperately needed it I may say—terribly untidy child, Guy. I was asleep at the time, but the vacuum cleaner woke me, and I at once went into my well-known “let me get out for pity’s sake” routine. Usually she studiously ignored me when I was doing this, but now she crouched down beside my cage and, putting out her finger, rubbed the tip of my nose as I pushed it through the bars.
“Poor old Houdini,” she murmured. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? What about a little run in the bathroom? You can’t get out of there, and it’ll give your poor legs a stretch.”
I positively went mad when she said that, reaching both front paws through the bars and uttering subsonic squeaks. She seemed startled and said, “You funny little beast! One would swear you understood every word!”
With this ignorant and unflattering observation, she unplugged the opening and I shot out into her hands.
Palpitating with joy, I was carried into the bathroom. In earlier, happier days the boys would often take me in there to play while they had their baths, so I knew the small room well—far better, in fact, than the Mother, which was one reason I was so excited I could hardly contain myself.
I hoped she would put me straight onto the floor and then leave me alone, in which case I could have put my master plan into operation immediately. She was not taking any chances, however. She did indeed put me on the floor, after carefully closing the door, but she stayed there with me for quite a while, cleaning various bits of the room; while that was going on, I simply ran about in apparently innocent enjoyment and didn’t even go near the door, to avoid arousing her suspicions.
However, when she had finished, she picked me up. My heart sank. Was it to be back to the cage?
But no—my luck was in.
“You can play in the bath for a bit,” she said, “if that’s any fun for you.”
Well, of course, it would have been deadly, but for one miraculous thing. She left the rubber shower attachment hanging off the faucet into the bathtub, little dreaming, I suppose, that I would be up it like greased lightning the second she was out of the room.
Now, I mentioned that this was an old house, and a rather shabby one. The Father, fortunately for me, was no do-it-yourself expert; otherwise that space between the rounded corner of the bath next to the wall, and the wall itself, would long ago have been filled in. As it was, it was the work of a
moment to jump down this opening onto the boarded floor, and from there make my way to the hole leading to the Outdoors, which I had known about ages ago from the draft of fresh air that always came to me in that room.
The hole was a small one, through which, I imagine, some waste pipe or other had once been fitted, but it was gone. I poked my head through the brickwork and looked down. Down! I tell you, that’s not the word! I’ve done a bit of vertical jumping in my life but this was ridiculous. I could hardly see the ground (my eyes are no use for distances). Every instinct I had warned me away from that brink—a jump, or fall, from such a height would kill me.
But I had to get down, nonetheless. How to do it?
I forced myself to overcome my fear and look again. This time, off a little to one side, I noticed something that at once terrified me and filled me with elation.
It was a drainpipe, which ran down the whole side of the house. The top of it, not more than twice my length from the hole I sat in, was shaped like a funnel. I had only to pluck up my courage for a powerful sideways leap, and then a bit more for a long, vertical dive down that pipe, and I would be free.
I did not hesitate any longer than it took me to gather my haunches under me and shift my weight once or twice to get ready. Then I fairly launched myself across the yawning gap.
Because I had not had a proper launching platform, but had had to jump out of the hole, I nearly missed. The horror of it comes back to me now in waves of fear. That drop! The hard pavement below! But the worst did not happen. True, I didn’t land in the funnel. But the front half of me did, enough to enable me to clutch the rough rim of the funnel with my forepaws and lean my head and shoulders over it for balance, so by kicking and scrabbling with my strong back legs and claws, I was able to heave myself in.
My heart was thudding so hard in my chest that, if I’d had a choice, I would have paused in the mouth of the pipe to give myself a chance to recover. However, no such choice was mine. I had tipped myself so violently over the edge that I couldn’t stop and just went hurtling headfirst down the pipe.
I, Houdini Page 6