ANGELA ROBB

Bobby'S Pet Emporium

 

 

I arrived at Bobby’s at dusk, after a long and terrifying journey in the back of a van. I didn’t see much from the outside – partly because it was dark, and partly because some very heavy braking had flipped me into an upside-down-with-head-under-the-sawdust orientation from which I was still too dizzy to move. (Please remember that I was very young, and had not yet grown into the unstoppable hamster that I am today.)

      As I was carried through the door, though, I caught glimpses of dog collars and cat bowls – and I realised this was the typical pet shop that my mother had described. I felt a pang of sorrow then, for I knew I would never see her again. All in a flash, I was dropped into a small cage, the shop door slammed shut, and a key was turned in the lock: Bobby’s was closed.

      It was a long and lonely night. All I could hear were soft snores coming from the cages round about – and some louder ones, coming from the dark furry heap in the corner of my own cage. I buried myself beneath a pile of sawdust, and there I stayed, wide awake.

      In the morning I had a much clearer view of my surroundings. The effect on my morale was not good. In the cage to my left were four dwarf hamsters, arguing over the fairest length of time that each should spend on their shared hamster wheel. To my right, two fat guinea pigs chattered in a high-pitched language known only to themselves. Much worse, however, was the large white bunny opposite, who always had one ear up and one ear down, and who sat perfectly still, as though nursing a dangerous rage. I called him CTB: the Cuddly Time Bomb.

      As for the customers … I soon learned that humans come in two sizes: the big ones may believe they call the shots, but anyone can see that the tiny ones are really in control, at least when it comes to buying a pet. For that is what we were all destined to become: pets.

      Well, perhaps not all of us. You are probably wondering about my cage-mate, the furry heap who snored so loudly. In fact he is of great importance to my story. His name was Sage, and he was an elderly gerbil who had lived nearly all his days at Bobby’s – save for one week, a long time ago, which he spent in the home of a small girl he called ‘the Careless One’. He would say no more about his time as a pet, only that he had been returned to the shop after seven days. Since then, of course, he had never found a new home. I did not like to suggest it, but I could not help wondering whether the fact that he had only one eye might have explained this.

      Put simply, Sage was a grouch. When he finally woke that first morning and saw that I had arrived, he barely acknowledged I was there; so many young rodents had come and gone before me. Come to think of it, he ignored everyone around him – not a difficult thing to do, as he slept nearly all of the time.

      And so I passed each boring day just as if I were alone, running miles on our creaking plastic wheel (without getting anywhere at all). I watched the customers, especially the small decision-makers. From the attention I was given, I realised that I must be an extremely handsome hamster. It was only a matter of time: someday soon, I would be purchased. How that made me feel, I couldn’t quite decide.

      Well, that all changed the night Bobby left the shop in too much of a hurry. As always, he fed us just before closing time, lifting the hatch on the front of the cage and tossing a handful of food towards our little plastic bowl. But this time, as he squeezed his hand back out, the hatch dropped on to a wooden chew block – and was jammed open.

      Bobby didn’t notice. He hurried to the door. The lights went out, and the door banged shut. As usual, the only sound was of snoring: everyone else was asleep. I crept towards the open hatch and looked out … all the way down to the hard floor, far below. 

      For a moment I wondered what to do next. Then something strange and wonderful happened, like a switch being flicked on in my brain. My front paws grasped hold of the bar beneath the hatch, without me even asking them to. It occurred to me that I had no idea what I was doing – and that I was going to do it anyway. 

      I leapt heroically from my cage.

      I hit the floor, and bowled head over heels across its cold surface. Thrilled by my natural talent for accidental acrobatics, I sprang to my feet and looked around me. The shop was dimly lit by the street lights outside. My heart was pounding – but I immediately started spying the place out. I scurried around the floor, gazing up at towering bags of food, hiding in their long shadows as I skirted the edges of the lowest shelves. I peered around the wheeled base of a display stand holding signs that warned, BEWARE OF THE COCKAPOO. I felt a buzz of excitement: as though something dark and dangerous might be lurking just outside the pool of yellow light beyond the stand. If this was fear, then it was unexpectedly fun; and so I bolted out into the light, ready for anything.

      Or, as it turned out, ready for nothing. But it really didn’t matter.

      I came to an array of hanging dog leads, and grabbed hold of one. I climbed up it, gripping hard with all four feet – never looking down. And so I reached the higher shelves … and for the first time since jumping out of my cage, I sat perfectly still, gazing at the fantastic scene laid out before me. Slowly, my eyes searched every detail: the bowls and beds, toys and treats, scratching posts, cages, fish tanks … Half of one wall was taken up by fish for sale, and I could hear the soft gurgle of bubbles in their water; I could smell the dried dog food laid out like a pick ‘n’ mix by the door. It was extraordinary: a brand new universe of sights and sounds and smells.

      At last, I reached over the end of the shelf to take hold of my dog lead again. I abseiled back down, with a zipping sound of claws on fabric – and a thud of padded rump on floor. One of the leads had fallen, and lay loosely coiled close to where I had landed. Feeling rather amazed at myself (please remember that I was discovering my brilliance for the first time), I took said lead between my front paws, and tossed it. The loop on the end dropped neatly around my water bottle. I pulled myself up it and dropped back into my cage.

      I was out of breath. One single, enormous thought kept rattling around in my brain: if there was so much to explore within Bobby’s store, what about the whole great entire world outside Bobby’s store?

      Suddenly I noticed Sage, sitting up in his usual corner. He was cloaked in shadow, but somehow his one eye was gleaming. The sight of him gave me a start.

      ‘Sage!’ I said. ‘You’re awake!’

      ‘Yes,’ he said, solemnly. ‘I am.’

      ‘Did you see that?!’ I was thrilled that my triumphant adventure had not gone completely unobserved.

      ‘Yes, young Rocco, I saw all of it. I saw a careless young fellow leap blindly from the safety of his cage, and run amok around this shop without any idea of the danger that might be waiting. I am surprised – very surprised – to see that same young fellow standing before me now, all in one piece.’

      ‘But Sage,’ I protested, ‘it was amazing! There’s so much to do and see out there, and you can run – not just spin around pointlessly on a wheel; you can run and climb and actually get somewhere! I was free, Sage. I want to do it again.’

      ‘No!’ Sage moved closer. Now there was a wild look in his eye. ‘You must take heed of what I say, Rocco. Bad things happen to rodents who do not stay in their cages. When one’s cage is left open, there are … unimaginable perils …’ He shuddered. ‘We are the fortunate ones! There are many who have never known the sanctuary of the box-with-bars. Terrible fates await them. They do not die of old age.’

      ‘You mean …’ I could not believe what I was hearing. ‘There are rodents who aren’t pets?’

      But as usual, Sage would say no more. He shuffled back towards his corner, and was snoring again before he quite got there. It did not matter: I had heard enough. Far from convincing me of my youthful foolishness, the old gerbil had fired my already sizzling imagination.

      The very next day, Gary Bickle came to the shop with his mum to choose a present for his seventh birthday. He carried me out in a cardboard box which was, apparently, just perfect for shaking violently. But I was not afraid. I was ready.