And Now - The Hamster Launcher

    My father hated squirrels but loved hamsters. 

    He had an elaborate setup to keep squirrels from eating bird food from the various feeders in the backyard. The hamsters, however, were something else. He loved them. Dad adored how they stuffed their pouches full of whatever goodies he gave them. He kept a couple of the fuzzy guys in his workshop, where they happily went around their wheels as Dad worked. 

        Eventually, however, the rest of us in the house became weary of the endless squeaking of the wheels. No matter what time of day or night, it was “squeak squeak squeak squeak.” 

           We tried everything at the onset, including putting heavy towels on the cages so that they would sleep and not run themselves ragged. But no. 

    The little guys kept at it until my mother finally cracked and put down an ultimatum. 

    “It’s the hamsters or your wife and kids. Pick. We’re done.” My brother and I nodded in unison.

    Desperate to work something out, that night Dad, an electromechanical engineer with a degree from the University of Havana, hit upon a potential solution. He returned from the hardware store with a couple of small ball bearings. After a few hours, he successfully got them attached to the hamster wheels. 

    He then took one of the hamsters and put it into the cage and on the wheel. Dad was alone in the shop at the time.

And then – “Eureka!” he yelled. “Eureka! Come down here and see this!”

                

    The three of us ran downstairs, where Dad was staring intently at the hamster cage. He put one on the wheel and within seconds, the hamster had it going fast, fast, fast.

    Then the poor creature shot out of its cage and into my father's hands.

    

    Dad had accidentally invented the Hamster Launcher.

    

    “Hamster power!” he kept yelling. “Look, flying hamsters!”

                

    Sure enough, each time he placed one of them in the wheel (now with his hands protectively over the open door) the critter picked up so much speed it was launched out of the cage.

                

    Each and every time Dad would yell "Eureka!"  We were sure he envisioned millions of hamsters whirling in their cages and producing a new method for powering entire countries.

    We only tried the experiment several times since the pets were now freaked out and of course, none of us wanted them injured. We could not conceptualize how anything positive could come out of a homemade gadget that did nothing except launch unwitting hamsters through the air.

    Dad sighed. 

    

    My mother had drawn a line in the sand. He could keep the current batch of hamsters but there would be no more at our house. The squeaking was intolerable. Let’s not even talk about how we all figured the PETA people would be at our doorstep if they had any inkling of a house in which hamsters were being launched in the basement at Warp 9.9 speeds.

    The three of us went back up the steps, listening to Dad take the ball bearings off the wheel, all dreams of a new way of creating energy dashed. 

    

    Dad rehomed the furry fellows to someone who had a bigger house where the squeaks would not take over the entire place. 

    PETA never found out, and my father acquiesced to my mother for the sake of his marriage and our sleep. All of us were able to dream peacefully now that there were no more flying hamsters in our house.

    There was an incident involving a flying Thanksgiving turkey but that story is for another day.

    Amen, and pass the mustard.