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My sister and I never had pets as children, or rather we had them but they didn’t tend to last very long. Indeed, no sooner had some dumb animal entered the house than my mother seemed to be making plans to get rid of it. The raven itself was hoarse that croaked the fatal entrance of Hammy the Hamster under our battlements.
Hammy was a rather sweet brown and white creature who spent much of his time sleeping and the rest of it going round and round on his treadmill. It can’t have been much of a life and he eventually escaped; my sister and I, distraught, demanded a replacement. This turned out to be a hamster called Honey, who somehow lacked Hammy’s sweetness of nature. Honey was just dull. She slept even more than Hammy and seemed reluctant to climb on to her treadmill — and who, in retrospect, can blame her? When she escaped there were no tears shed and no demands for a replacement.
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