In tribute to my little Percy, this is a story I wrote back in 2002
I was absolutely gutted when my lovely gerbil, Harry, died. “No more!” was the cry in the house – but not from me, I hasten to add.
I bided my time for at least a whole week, or maybe even two, and then managed to work it into the conversation that the local pet shop had baby gerbils for sale. The babies were sooooo cute, I explained, and it was a shame – nay, an insult to the memory of my dearly departed Harry to leave his old home empty. However, my pleas fell on deaf ears.
They say that good things come to those who wait and wait I did. My big chance came when my other-half went away for a few days the following weekend. I rubbed my hands together with glee and thought “Ha!”.
I had barely finished waving him off when I just so happened to need to pop into the pet shop for a few bits and bobs and, oh dear me, somehow I seemed to emerge with a tiny chocolate brown bundle, whom I named Hilda.
I settled my new baby into Harry’s old home, a cat-proof glass tank. After making sure she had all the comforts a gerbil could possibly need, I shooed the cats and dog away and left her to get acquainted with her new surroundings. After an hour or so I popped up to see how Hilda was getting on and as there was no sign of movement from the tank, I left her to it - well pleased with myself that she had settled down so fast.
I went off downstairs to wash the dishes, which was interrupted by the phone ringing – the man himself. Taking a deep breath I broke the news about the new addition to the family, which he actually took quite well in the circumstances.
Hilda
After the call, I resumed my dish-washing but was distracted by Dougal howling and yowling. Now, this is not unusual for Dougal as he is a very vocal cat but a slightly desperate tone made me stop what I was doing and go and investigate.
Dougal
Perhaps at this point I should mention that, apart from a very brief flirtation which ended abruptly when Dougal was run over, my cats are strictly indoor cats so I have never had to deal with the usual trail of tiny dismembered corpses that other cat owners seem to take in their stride. So, I was absolutely horrified to come face to face on the stairs with Percy – who had a seemingly lifeless Hilda hanging from his mouth by her tail!
Of course, being the level-headed, calm-in-a-crisis sort that I am, I started flapping about and yelling at Percy to drop Hilda NOW! Percy, having caught the wee escapologist, didn’t seem to quite know what to do with her and stood rooted to the spot with a look of “what on earth do I do now?” on his face, while Dougal yowled on for me to save the gerbil (he’s a strange one) and Reg (the dog) looked vaguely amused.
Reg
After a few seconds, which felt like hours, Percy ran off but not before dropping Hilda who, to my relief, wasn’t dead but was in severe shock. Dougal and Reg also high-tailed it out of there and left me with the poor traumatised rodent to deal with. Have you ever seen a scared gerbil? Boy, can they jump. I was trying to catch her and she was jumping literally about 3 feet into the air! Eventually, with the assistance of a woolly hat, I managed to grab her and thankfully, apart from a minor flesh wound near her eye, she seemed ok.
I later realised that she had escaped via the hole in the lid of the tank where the water bottle fitted. No wonder she had seemed quiet when I checked on her – she must have been out and about!
Two and a half years later, Hilda is still going strong. She’s a big fat pudding now and strangely enough, after her brush with Percy the (would be) Gerbil Slayer, she never seemed that interested in going for adventures outside of her safe, warm home!
Percy
After due consideration, Percy decided not to pursue his career as a rodent hunter as it was an awful lot of hard work and he received no recognition for his achievements!
October 2002
