Harriet Tub-man

About a year ago one of my roommates was bumpin' uglies with this girl in his tent in the basement. She was a little off. But to teach my roommate some responsibility she went out and bought him a hamster. He/we didn't really want a hamster, but before we could do anything about it she ironically went on a weekend coke bender and porked her ex-bf and probably many others.

So for the last year we have had a hamster living in the Box house. It is probably the worst possible place for a pet, but she at least smells better than most of the house. We named her Harriet Tubman because she is always trying to get out of whatever enclosure she is in. She has chewed through everything from her plastic ball to Al's carpeting to make her escapes. We usually find her a few days later and on a different floor from which she got out.

Two nights ago in a fit of drunkenness Harriet's cage (read: glass fishbowl) was destroyed. Without a home we put her in the best place we could think of; the shower. So now she has a great living space with nice steep walls, while we have one less shower. I don't know how that thing is still alive.