Has been round to our house again, this time picking up Mrs Snow the hamster. Unlike Stanley, the cross-dressing transexual guinea pig that was really a she. Mrs Snow was, as per her name, a female. She lived a peaceful and simple existence, in her little cage on George's desk and now rests cocooned in cotton wool in a Nike Air Max Triax box at the bottom of the garden. The rest of us pets, Speedy, Gizmo, Muffin, and myself of course, scan each other anxiously wondering who will be next. Nervously awaiting the arrival of the next pair of trainers, and pondering how long it will be before it's box and it's macabre but eco-friendly contents will be going to join the others underneath the hedge. RIP Mrs Snow. Why not donate towards her marble and diamond encrusted headstone by hitting the PayPal button on me Dad's website? Just as a mark of hamster respect like? I mean it won't get wasted on a big piss up or nothing, it's for legitimate out of pocket funeral expenses, not lager.
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