I remember the blue and yellow cage, with bars of steel, trapping in the little ball of fur inside the dark box. her smooth and silky fur glides across the chewed bars, as if she was waiting for one of the bars to fall down, planning her escape perfectly. I had had a hamster for about two years since fifth grade . Her name was wintergreen, and I didn’t care for her much. since her cage was in a different room that I usually didn’t go in, I easily forgot to feed her.
Sometimes, when I didn’t feed her, she would chew on the bars of her cage to remind me, but that mostly annoyed me. I remember hearing that scratching noise the night before, though I never got up, I was too tired. After I fell asleep and woke up, something in my gut urged me to get up and walk into that little room outside of mine. As I saw her cage, my heart skipped a beat. I ran to it, hoping she was only sleeping.
But when I poked her, she didn’t budge. Getting more and more nervous, I rattled the cage. Nothing. I ran downstairs to tell my dad, and in a hysterical voice, said, “I think she’s dead!” He came up with a spatula and a shoebox. We scooped the small, petrified little black body into the small adidas box, and walked outside, into the rain. I realized that this was all my fault.
We buried the box in the backyard. I wanted to go back in time and feed her but I knew I couldn’t. Since it was raining, I hid my tears very well. The drops fell down my face, mimicking the rain. I knew I should have cared for her more. I would never forget to do that again.