Cricetinae Fictionem – or Something Like That: 2

Long before those bewildering earplugs appeared on the scene, my comedic desires were assuaged by stories about sentient hamsters that lived in a parallel universe to our own. Hence the Hamster-Sapiens series of e-books. 

As you can clearly see, there are five of them available currently.  And very nice they are too – if you don’t mind stories that are not really suitable for pre-teens and can be a bit…ah…RUDE sometimes. In this brief series of  Cricetinae Fictionem – or Something Like That, I aim to bring you little snippets from all five books. This time I’ve chosen a random snippet from Fanfare for the Common Hamster.

Deep within the bowels of the National Institute for Psychic Rodent Research, Felicity Bugler was coming desperately close to complete physical and mental exhaustion. Yet still Freddy Ringworm continued mercilessly to produce back-to-front playing cards for Felicity to ‘read’ with her mind.

So, once more, the young dormouse summoned up the strength to use her latent psychic ‘powers’ that Doctor Rambling Bramble felt certain that she possessed – at least in theory – possibly – if they were lucky.

“Queen,” she sighed – then added hopefully, “The Queen of Sods?”

Freddy flipped the card to reveal the Thirteen of Caks. Yet again Felicity’s shoulders slumped, and she yawned uncontrollably.

Upon an instruction from Bramble, who stood behind plate glass in a control booth, Freddy began to extract another card from down the front of his trousers where he kept them warm. But his paw was stayed by the arrival of a large group of Kool Kustard employees.

Primrose Pickles was just releasing herself from the kitchenette as they passed, and so was the first person to greet them – with a platter of inexpensive pancakes. She was overjoyed at the appearance of Joan. She couldn’t help herself from jumping up and down and squealing her name enthusiastically several times before having a paw clamped over her snout by Bramble as he appeared from the booth door, and pushed her back into the kitchenette – but not before relieving her of the pancakes, which he offered to Joan, Darkwood, Rootley, Brother Alfonso, and Reg Daftwaddle – for a small fee.

“My, Joan – you’ve certainly led us a merry dance: Where have you been?” He said – after pocketing four gold coins and a two Rodento note, “I don’t recognise these strange hamsters: Are they your friends?”

Joan didn’t respond immediately: She was still too shocked by Primrose’s welcome, and wondered if the young beauty practised lesbianism. If that was the case then she was doubly shocked: She’d never met a lesbian before. Then she caught sight of her sister through the brain-testing room window, and all thoughts of lesbianism were cast aside upon a tidal wave of emotion. It was patently clear to her what her sister was trying to do: She was risking her own sanity in an attempt to save her stupid, fat, hamster, sister from herself!


Freddy Ringworm had neither the opportunity nor wits to mount a defence: Joan was in the door, across the room, and shoving him aside before he could say ‘Horatio Indigo Transvestite Horseblanket’ – and all so that she could hug the tiny dormouse that was Felicity.

After recovering their composure, the sisters talked in excited squeaks for several seconds before their breath ran out, and they both dropped into the testing-chair in order to gasp mightily, and inwardly digest the information that had passed between them. This gave Algy Timber, who had only just returned from the toilet, the opportunity to vent his emotions. He did this in two ways: Outwardly he skipped upon the spot for several seconds, in a show of relief that at any other time would have left him mortified; then scuttled across the floor to greet her in the most un-boss-like hug imaginable. Inwardly he was finally able to cast off the constant desire to punish himself by chewing upon his private parts. The resulting sudden rush of endorphins in his brain made him go all numb, and he subsequently slumped in a heap at Joan’s feet.

“Sorry, Joan,” he said, slightly embarrassed, “but I have an intolerance to endorphins: That’s why Mildred prepares me so much porridge: It’s the perfect counter-agent. Nice to see you safe and well. You don’t happen to have any pancakes left I suppose?”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013


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