There are two new additions to the Shaffer/Tuma household: Fluffy and Sally.
Fluffy and Sally are Gribbles. Gribbles are gerbils that three and six year olds can’t pronounce. Fluffy is a black Gribble, and Sally is a gray Gribble. When they first arrived, and Kristen asked what the girls wanted to name them, Jaime said, “Fluffy. ‘Cause she’s kinda fluffy.” Paige thought for a moment and said, “I think mine is named Fluffy, too.” To avoid a Gribble identity crisis Paige’s second choice, Sally, was utilized. I was rooting for ‘Alfonzo,’ but was overruled by the women folk.
Rodents now roll through our house in yellow plastic balls, usually fleeing a small child intent on ‘helping’ them to roll faster, or discovering how well yellow plastic balls bounce.
This is not my first experience with the buck-toothed little fiends. Growing up, my sisters kept two guinea pigs in a cage in the basement. If any of you are reading, sisters, perhaps you remember what their names were. They were the long haired variety, which must be great for cold weather, maybe not so great for prolonged exposure to direct sunlight. They met their untimely end when the girls left them outside in a makeshift corral for several hours in the August sun.
My younger sister Carly kept a bunch of domesticated rats in the room she inherited from me when I moved down to KC back in January ‘04. They pretty much reeked – sorry Carly. One by one they began to die of some strange rat virus. I kept expecting a call from a relative breaking the news that my entire family had mysteriously died of Bubonic plague. The rats died, and the humans survived.
Anybody remember Sugar Gliders? We had a couple of them, too. Think flying squirrels, but smaller, with cute, giant eyes. They also made these adorable little poops. My friends and I used to toss them to each other out in the backyard until my mom discovered us and made us stop. Everything was going well until one day we came downstairs to find one of the pair lying on the floor of the cage, its head mysteriously flattened, although with no outward signs of duress. We never did solve that mystery. Instead we just gave the surviving sugar glider away, as it now creeped us out.
I have never had Gribbles, however. In fact, I am fairly certain the term didn’t exist until this past Monday. Hopefully they are a resilient species, as I’m afraid they may have a difficult road ahead of them having Paige and Jaime as their masters.
[...] zoning issues and lawyers, henchman that are always getting into trouble, dangerous guard-gribbles to contend with, and of course, most folks know my identity. However, I must rant about what my next [...]
Yeah, mom – enlighten your fans.
And guard gribbles; how menacing…
Okay. First of all – the guinea pigs didn’t live in the basement, they lived in a large cage in Ricki and Devon’s bedroom. They actually lived a longer than normal life. Chocolate Chip died of natural causes (old age, I suppose). Peanut Butter did unfortunately, die as the result of a terrible over-sight. He was enjoying some fresh, green grass outside in the shade of our large maple tree. We had been watching him, even moving his fenced enclosure as the sun rose higher in the sky, changing the shade pattern. I had to leave the house for a short time and checked the piggie before I left. Unfortunately, the piggie’s primary care-giver forgot to watch him, and upon my return, I found the poor little critter very stressed and over-heated, having been unable to get out of the blazing sun when the shade disappeared from his little oasis. I did what I could to cool him down, but I’m afraid it was too late for the little guy.
After the guinea pigs, hamsters, gribbles, mice, sugar gliders and rats, (not to mention your newts, Refe), I decided we would never again have any pets that lived in a cage or other enclosure requiring constant cleaning. And I have adhered to that decision.
Unless, of course, you count the horse barn…
What my mother doesn’t seem to remember is that our piggies were both females… >->
True. I guess I just fell into that generic “he”. I stand corrected!
I distinctly remember the guinea pigs living in the basement. Perhaps it was after Peanut Butter went to the big pig-pen in the sky, but the cage and at least one guinea pig lived into the basement. Nevertheless, I’m glad you were able to tell your side of the story, however rose-colored it may be.
By the way, for those uninitiated in the ways of the (Richard) Tuma household, my mother only included caged pets in the above comment. She did not mention Max, Chessie, Skye, Monty, Willow, Indie, Hurricane, Sophie, Mona, Bitsy, Callie, Wolfie, Gambit, Baby Cat, Pirate, Hunter, whatever their new horse is called, and the countless other creatures whose names I have long since forgotten. I haven’t even bothered to mention the myriad of foster animals who have graced our tree-trunks with there markings. My mother, Dr. Dolittle. At least you are prettier than Rex Harrison.
I’ll offer a very grateful “Amen” to the ‘prettier than Rex Harrison’ comment.
(You forgot Nola, the New Orleans stray cat your mother brought home that we can’t catch, making her a permanent resident by default.)
You forgot Jilly! How could you forget Jilly?
And, my horse’s name is Takoda, Koda for short.
And, yes, one guinea pig did stay in the basement for a while.
And, yes, we have had a lot of foster animals (and I have saved a lot of lives!)
And, yes – I most certainly am prettier than Rex Harrison!
Its actually kind of odd that I would forget Jilly, because she was always my favorite of the smaller dogs. And I think I spotted Nola once or twice – she really is a quick one.
I noticed that Susan has not weighed in on this “rodent fest”— why, she herself once hosted a litter of mice under her futon…I believe it was then that her affinity towards such creatures was first revealed.