Cricetinae Fictionem – or Something Like That: 4

Long before those literary masterpiece 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. 

Here’s a random excerpt from the third of the aforementioned – The Psychic Historian...,

Soon the young male hamster found himself walking along a colonnade of (what appeared at first sight to be) market stalls. But rather than being the purveyors of fruit, vegetables, unpleasantly sweating meat products, and sunglasses of dubious origin, the stalls were actually the point of contact between any would-be students, and the representatives of the town’s universities.

“Come and scrutinize our literature. Study our informative prospectus.” Those who manned the stalls would cry out. “Look how nicely we’ve laid out our campus.”

The young hamster was impressed by their entrepreneurial skills. He stopped and chatted with several before finally settling upon a college that enjoyed the moniker, ‘The Chunder Bellows School for Blistering Idiots’.

“Hello.” He smiled as he introduced himself to the ageing wood mouse behind the counter, “I’ve checked-out all the other colleges here today, and I’ve decided that your college is the one best suited to my needs.”

The ageing wood mouse took up a quill made from the tail feather of a wren, and dipped into a pot of ink. He then prepared himself to write upon a large sheet of headed notepaper.

“Name?” The wood mouse inquired in a disinterested tone.

For a moment this seemed to stump the young hamster. Then realization struck, and he smiled: Obviously the old mouse was almost blind. “It’s there – at the top of the page.” He informed the wood mouse.

“Ugh?” The wood mouse responded in puzzlement.

“Chunder Bellows School for Blistering Idiots.” The young hamster nodded pleasantly – pleased to have been able to help.

“You what?” The wood mouse was now even more perplexed. “Your name is the same as the college you wish to join? That seems more than coincidental.”

Now it was the turn of the young hamster to be confused. “But my name is Lancelot Ballesteroid!” He cried out in surprise.

In an instant the ageing wood mouse understood. “Ah,” he began to write the words Lancelot Ballesteroid in the box marked ‘name’, “it appears that you have indeed selected your college well: For certainly you are a blistering idiot.”

Lancelot didn’t know how to take this: Was it some sort of test? He thought that he’d play it safe. “Yes.” He said.

“Address?” The wood mouse asked, then stepped back to await Lancelot’s response.

Again Lancelot decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and so replied with, “Yours or mine?”

The ageing wood mouse sighed. “Oh, I don’t know – let’s try yours: we can come back to mine later.”

Lancelot liked the thought of that, and wondered if they would be having crumpets with their cup of tea. But he kept his counsel and said only, “Number Twenty-twelve, Rincon Del Anus, Hamster Heath.”

“Does it have a postal code?” The wood mouse inquired in a most professional manner.

Lancelot replied in the affirmative.

The wood mouse gave him a long appraising look, but said only; “Good. Perhaps we should come back to that later as well.” Then he added; “Age?”

Lancelot’s eyes darted this way and that. He wondered if this too was a test. What possible age could the wood mouse refer too? Then it came to him; “Ice.” He said loudly.

At this the wood mouse sighed so deeply that Lancelot thought that he might be in danger of inverting himself. “Perhaps you should see a doctor?” he suggested helpfully. “Your lungs don’t appear to have developed properly. Or have you been gassed?”

“Perhaps I should see a shrink.” The other responded. “But then I guess I’d have to be at least half-way crazy to want to run a college for morons in the first place. So your name is Lancelot Ballesteroid, you come from Hamster Heath, and you were born during an ice-age. Do I have all the facts correct?”

Lancelot considered this. “Two out of three aren’t bad.” He said uncertainly.

“If you’re happy with that – I’m happy with that. We’re done.” The wood mouse then extended a paw. “Welcome to Chunder Bellows.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013

The five e-books that feature here are all available at many e-book retailers, including those mentioned in the sidebar to your right. You should take a look – if only out of curiosity.

P.S Did you see that? It wasn’t rude. No one farted or dropped their trousers! What is the world coming to?


2 thoughts on “Cricetinae Fictionem – or Something Like That: 4

    • My choice too. I loved writing that book. I can remember writing the intro – then stopping dead at the first of the short stories that the book comprises. I had not a single idea – until I let my imagination wander; and I saw a dusty track, along which an ancient gerbil, with a pack on her back, hopped clumsily. From there the book wrote itself. Ideas have never come so thick and fast. I’m glad you chose that one.

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