My hamster (Raziel, RIP, lived to just under 3) was a little git. I knew it from the moment I saw him – he was the last in the shop, this little bundle of ginger fluff. Shop assistant opened the cage, and he just started squeaking angrily (the hamster, not the assistant).
It was odd, because he was mooching around like your average hamster, seemed like your average hamster… apart from the noise. That was why he was the last in the shop – apparently he was unusually noisy. I decided that this slightly bonkers rodent and myself were destined to be together!
Truth be told, I never handled him much – I'd stroke him whilst he was in his cage, normally after bribing him with treats. I was happy just to watch him mooching, and was bedazzled at how massive he could make his face. Seriously, it's amazing.
Only ever had one escaping incident – I'd popped him in his ball while I was changing his cage, and after a minute looked around – the ball was empty, lid off. There then ensured a good hour or so of lifting up sofas. I'd lift up the one, Raziel would run under the other. I'd lift up the other, he'd run back to the first sofa. FOR OVER AN HOUR.