Oh, hey! Look at this. I wonder what this could be for.
Hmmmmm. Two boxes and a bag of lab blocks. I wonder what’s in those boxes.
But what could be in there? I’ll tell you what’s NOT in there: the hairless damn rats they were selling for $14.99 each at the pet shop. So, I am a big fan of rodents, but even I am all, “So what’s the point of a hairless rat?” Let me tell you, those are some ugly motherfucking animals.
BUT WHAT WAS IN THE BOXES, STIMEY?
Well, I’ll show you the book that I took with me, with the page featuring the illustration of genitals dogeared so I wouldn’t accidentally end up with a boy/girl pair.
Incidentally, it’s like that book was written for me. It had chapters on photographing your gerbil and how to force them to participate in crafts, like paper snowflake creation.
Without further ado, meet Mouse (on the left) and Jetpack (on the right).
Alex was probably right about me wrecking their lives. I think they were a little traumatized by their move from the heavily populated tank at the pet store to the plush, but lonelier digs in Stimeyland. They’re currently huddled together in a house, refusing to come out.
I think you all know why Mouse is named Mouse. I thought it was funny. Actually, Jack independently came up with the name Mouse as well. As did at least one other friend of mine. So, it’s funny, but maybe not super original. Still, that’s his name.
Jetpack, however, was never going to be called Jetpack. Then, after I brought him home, and he and Mouse were frantically running around the tank destroying the neat setup that I had created for them, he climbed up on top of the little running wheel…
…and then did this:
And then he did it again.
After that, it was either name him Jetpack or Dipshit, and it’s easier to explain Jetpack to my kids’ teachers when these animals inevitably show up in school essays.
I’m giving the two of them a couple of days to acclimate to their new home before I start cuddling with them. They seem like they’ll be good pets, although I’m a little disappointed by their almost pathological many hours of trauma-sleeping. They should get used to the fact that they are here to entertain me, not sleep.
Rest up, gerbils, it’s getting close to snowflake season.
Welcome to the newest denizens of Stimeyland!
May they live long and prosper.