To get the full story, start with EPISODE 1
It all started when I met Bifidus. I mean, not really, life has had it in for me for quite a while, but for the sake of creating some semblance of a story and suspense, let’s just accept this meeting as the starting point of my extravagant new brand of misery.
Bifidus was a hamster, and as such, one of his most essential traits was a short lifespan. To be more precise, a lifespan that was somewhere between too short for one to actually care about the futility of it all and reasonably long to not feel the urgency of it. But my miniature friend wanted to leave a mark, and fast. A smudge, basically.
I was minding my own business, perfecting the much neglected art of keeping perfectly still, when who would come by but a fedora wearing hamster.
Now, I don’t know what it is about some people and their love of hats, but if you ask me there are two groups of hat wearers out there. Those whose head attire signals that they think they have a divine right to erratically poke at the hole that is the entrance to your `own goddamn business`, and those cool enough for you to lower the bridge to the aforementioned `own goddamn business`, actively encouraging some poking on their part, when in comes the hat, demonstrating their lack of interest in your square person.
It is important to note that this second group are also the sort of people who say things like: `I feel naked without a hat on`. Which is a silly and naïve notion to entertain, because it would only be a valid concern if others wanted to fuck your brains out. The general consensus though, I’m afraid, is that other parts of the anatomy tend to be preferred.
And then there was the confusion about the right pronoun. Bifidus was incredibly keen on making anyone he came into contact with extremely hesitant with regards the right pronoun to use when referring to her. See what I did there? Some people refuse a system of binary genders, feeling at ease in being a bit of both and neither one in particular at the same time (or so I’ve heard, but don’t quote me on that, it’s still all rather fuzzy). Bifidus was equally unhappy to be any of the two. She gave up on expressing her masculinity right about the same time he thought the feminine mystique was something so convoluted, nobody should spend their time trying to unwrap that bundle of enigmas. So, being an equal opportunity supporter, I choose to err on both bad sides, in turns, using male and female pronouns alternatively. It is also a good story-telling mechanism to convey the general feelings of befuddlement I had throughout.
But enough about the little bugger. Back to me.
So, I helped him by allowing her to form a statuary composition with me. Then, for some inexplicable reason, he thought we’d become friends…