Long before those dozy earplugs appeared upon the scene, my comedic desires were pleasantly assuaged by stories about sentient hamsters that lived in a parallel universe to our own. Hence the Hamster-Sapiens series of e-books.
On this particular occasion I have made the bold decision to foist upon you an extract from the first in the series – that being The Where House, which, I’m sure, you are aware is available via the book covers on the sidebar to your right (or below, somewhere, if you’re on a tablet or some such).
Had Boney not transferred responsibility from himself to Colin, then it’s certain that he would have been wringing his paws in indecision at this – very probably until they physically bled. As it was, he made a cup of tea in a feeble attempt to avoid the situation.
For a few precious seconds it appeared that his simple ruse would work: Colin had returned to the sod-ball game, and Lionel appeared to be so deep in thought, that Boney grew concerned that he’d fallen into a waking coma – or at least a hamstery fugue – neither of which could be described as ‘desirable’.
His fears were assuaged when the youngster mindlessly accepted the steaming hot beverage from his almost fur-less paw.
“Mucho gracias.” Lionel mumbled.
“De nada.” A relieved Boney replied.
‘Was the lad off on one of his out-of-body experiences that he’d once carelessly mentioned whilst they dug over the runner bean plot one frosty morning?’ He wondered. ‘Or was he suffering from a multiple personality disorder? This was not the first time that he’d spoken in Español. But then he remembered that Lionel’s parents hadn’t been amongst the richest rodents in town, and it was altogether probable that they took their annual holidays in sunny Bunnidorm, where they could purchase cheap beer, and as many ‘illicit’ computer games from dodgy-looking jerboas from Sandy Desert Land, for a mere paw-full of Rodentos. Naturally las instrucciones would be in Spanish. Yes it all made sense once you thought about it carefully enough’, he concluded whilst nodding his head knowingly.
Then Lionel took a sip of the steaming-hot tea. If it hadn’t been wet it would have set his bifurcated lips aflame.
“By the Great Angler’s Enormous Tit,” he bellowed, “that’s certainly cleared out both my sinuses and my cobwebbed mind!”
He then went on to explain that he’d been deep in thought. But before he could actually explain anything at all, Boney interrupted…
“It’s about the pretty lass, aint it, son?” he said – which surprised both Lionel and Boney because he was so rarely this insightful.
“Yes it is.” Lionel replied. “And it’s all to do with that day, long ago, when I arrived here.”
“Nose-surfing on an ocean of filth, I seem to recall.” Colin piped up during a break in the game for TV advertising and a desperately needed lavatory break for the players.
“That’s right.” Lionel turned to his android colleague, “And who was it that caused me to slip and fall into that vile ocean swell of slurry?”
Boney had no idea where Lionel was going with this train of thought, but he figured it best to humour the youngster, “A tractor driver, weren’t it?”
Lionel smiled. “And what happened to said tractor driver?” he inquired metaphorically.
Boney recognised the inquiry as being metaphorical because Lionel answered his own question before there was time to so much as suck a lower lip in contemplation, “He was taken to Chunderford General Hospital!”
This last point was obviously very important; but it was still early in the day, and not all of Boney’s neurons were facing the right way when they fired.
“Hmm,” he said, “nasty business. Nasty, nasty business.”
“Would that be his perforated scrotum that you’re talking about there?” inquired Colin.
“Indeed it would.” Lionel turned his attention back to Boney. “And whose teeth left those deep, painful, incisions?”
This final question stumped both flesh and blood, and non-flesh and blood hamsters alike.
Eventually Boney mumbled, “Well it was Fanangy, weren’t it? But ‘ow can that be? She was with us the ‘ole time. But she wouldn’t lie about somethin’ as important as biting down viciously on some poor unfortunate tractor driver’s ball-bag: That’s a pretty major to-do, that is. Grievous Bodily Harm at least. What d’ya reckon the answer to this conundrum is?”
“Time travel!” Lionel blurted the words more loudly than he intended to.
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2012