When I was younger, I wanted a pet. I mean, what little kid doesn’t want a loyal dog or adorable kitten? Unfortunately, my parents didn’t think the same way.
It’s true that having a dog is a big commitment. They live a long time and require a lot of care! Even as I grew older, though, I still wanted a pet. My IQ drops at least 100 points every time I approach an animal.
I still wanted a pet by the time I reached college. But my parents had a point: owning a dog or a cat is no joke. They cost a lot of time and money. Was I responsible enough to have a pet like that?
I just wanted something cute and fuzzy to play with! Is that too much to ask for? I kept obsessing over the idea.
This went on for months until my birthday rolled around. This year, my sister bought me a special gift.
She had bought me a pet cage! And some pet bedding! In other words, the first steps to getting my own pet mouse.
I always joked about getting a pet, but I never thought that it could become a reality. Now, the possibility was there. I wanted a mouse. I needed a mouse!
So, a few days later, my sister and I drove to the nearest PetSmart. There were only two mice in the rodents section.
The first mouse was white with brown spots. He was sleeping peacefully, curled up into a little ball of fluff.
The other mouse was black and lean. He was frantically running on his exercise wheel like there was no tomorrow.
You can guess which one I chose.
Even the PetSmart employee wasn’t convinced.
It was too late. I had already fallen in love with the hyper mouse. The PetSmart employee opened up the cage to transfer the mouse into a box…
She was right. Soon after getting my mouse, I noticed that he had some interesting quirks.
Male mice, like many other animals, have a habit of marking their territory. This behavior increases when the mouse feels nervous or threatened. This particular mouse is one of the most nervous, high-strung creatures I have ever seen. Accordingly, he pees constantly.
To make matters worse, mice usually like to pee and poop in the same location in their cage. My mouse chose a problematic area as his toilet.
Yeah. All night, my mouse will poop in his exercise wheel. Then he’ll run in it. By the time I wake up each morning, the wheel will be caked in a layer of trampled poop. Every day, I have to wipe it off.
And that smell. He really likes to mark his territory. I stuck boxes of baking soda around his cage. I bought air fresheners. I opened all the windows. Finally, I resorted to drastic measures.
Even with the air filter , the smell has only been reduced and not eliminated. I wash his cage weekly and remove the dirty bedding every day. As soon as I do, he makes a point to poop and pee immediately after.
What’s even dumber, though, is my mouse’s name.
When I got my mouse, I pondered over what to name him for days. Finally, I consulted my friends for advice.
Then, my dad came along.
Although I rejected my dad’s suggestion, my dad continued to call the mouse Obama.
Then, my mom caught on.
Finally, my sister picked it up.
Out of all the names I considered, this was the one that stuck the most. A few weeks later, I moved back to school and introduced the mouse to my friends.
Thus, nowadays I regularly say stuff like this:
And stuff like this:
Thanks, Obama.