Hamster Magic (3 page)

Tate knelt on the floor and began to paw through the books she had sorted.

“We have to wish for something a
hamster
would want?” repeated Derek. He stopped tossing the tennis ball. It fell from his hands and rolled to the middle of the floor.

“Well, if that’s not good enough for you,” said Hammy stiffly, “then you don’t have to wish for anything at all.”

“We didn’t say that,” said Abner, “but—”

“I found it!” Tate held up a small volume.
“How to Care for Your Hamster,”
she read aloud.

The others looked at her blankly.

“Don’t you see? This will tell us everything that hamsters want!”

Abner and Celia moved to either side of Tate, and all three huddled over the pages. “ ‘Hamsters like seeds,’ ” Tate read. “ ‘They like unsalted nuts and chew toys. They love to gnaw—’ ”

“I don’t want to give up a dog for chew toys,” said Abner. He ran his finger down the page. “Let’s see. They love to climb. They’re desert animals and don’t like to get wet—”

“There goes the swimming pool,” muttered Derek from behind them. “Celia, move over, will you?” He gave her a little shove.

“But I want to see,” protested Celia.

“You can’t even read,” said Derek, edging in beside Tate.

“I can, too!” Celia cried.

“Just baby books.” Derek bent over the book. “Hey, it says some hamsters like to sit in their food dishes!”

Everyone laughed except for Celia, who was mad at Derek and feeling sorry for herself. She saw Hammy’s wounded look and went to stand by his cage. She felt sorry for him, too.

“Look at what else they like to eat!” Derek pointed to a picture. “Worms! Beetles! That’s gross!”

“It’s not gross to
Hammy,”
said Celia. She reached out a finger to the paw that Hammy had poked through the bars. “And he likes dog biscuits, too.”

Hammy looked at her gratefully. “Woofies,” he whispered. “They’re the best.”

His tiny hamster paw gripped her finger. It tickled, and Celia tried not to laugh. She
didn’t want Hammy to think she was making fun of him.

“Wait, I’ve got it!” Derek rolled back on the floor, snickering. “Let’s wish for a hamster wheel! We could take
turns!”

“Stop it!” cried Celia. “You’re hurting his feelings!”

No one seemed to hear.

“ ‘Hamsters like to burrow in wood shavings,’ ” Tate read aloud, “ ‘and hay.’ ”

“I remember our old hamsters doing that,” said Derek, sitting up. “But I never knew why.”

“I think it’s because—” began Celia.

“It’s because they dig in the wild,” said Abner. He moved his finger along a line of text. “ ‘Hamsters create tunnel systems, with separate spaces for food, sleeping, baby hamsters—’ ”

“Tunnels might be good,” said Derek.

Celia was tired of being ignored just because
she was the smallest. And, looking at Hammy, she knew he felt the same way. “I know something a hamster wants,” she said suddenly. “Hammy’s tired of being little, and I am, too. I want to be big.”

Derek eyed her with scorn. “That’s not a hamster wish. Why would a hamster want to be big?”

“Some hamsters might,” said Celia stubbornly. “And I do want to be big! I wish I was bigger than
you!”

Hammy blinked. “You
wish?
Okay, then,” he said. He blew out his cheeks and shut his eyes. His toes curled. His ears went flat.

And Celia began to feel very strange indeed.

There was a
swoosh
in the room, and a swirling of grit like blowing desert sand, and the children shut their eyes. When they opened them again, Celia
had
become big.

She had also become a hamster.

She was a pretty big hamster—about the size of a large dog—and her fur was pale, with gray markings. She had a pink nose, small alert ears, and startled blue eyes.

There was a moment of shocked silence.

“My sister’s a hamster,” said Abner in a tone of disbelief.

“Tunnels would have been better,” Derek said. “Why did you make such a dumb wish, Seal?”

“I didn’t want to be a big hamster!” Celia wailed. “I wanted to be a big
girl!”

“Yeah, well, no hamster would wish for
that,”
Derek pointed out.

Tate tipped her head to one side. “She’s kind of cute. And she still looks like Celia, sort of.”

Strangely enough, she did still look like Celia. Blue eyes, pale fur—and a paw in her mouth.

“Honestly,” said Tate, “stop sucking your thumb, Celia—I mean, paw. I thought you broke that habit.”

Celia hastily took her paw out of her mouth. “I just wanted to see if it tasted different.”

“But what are we going to do now?” Abner turned to the others. “I mean—she’s a
hamster
. I don’t mind it myself,” he added hurriedly as the tears stood in Celia’s blue hamster eyes. “But the parents aren’t going to like it at all.”

Tate leaned over the cage. “Hammy, why did you do that? You’re going to have to take it
back. And you must have known it wasn’t our real wish.… Stop snuffling, Celia,” Tate added crossly. “You wanted to be big, so now you should act like it.”

Hammy stood up on his hind legs and squeaked.

Abner rolled his eyes. “Give it up, already. We know you can talk.”

“No, I think he’s trying,” said Tate. “Look at him!”

Hammy’s mouth was working, and his paws were waving, but nothing came out but squeaks.

“You used up all his magic,” said Derek. “Nice going.”

“Tunnels would have used just as much,” Celia answered hotly, her fur ruffling.

“But what are we going to do?” Abner muttered, and then swung sharply on his heel. “What’s that?”

Footsteps sounded in the hall. There was a knock on the door. “Suppertime!” called their father.

The four children—rather, three children and a hamster—looked at one another in panic as the doorknob turned.

Tate snatched the blanket and flung it over Celia. “Snuffle!” she hissed.

“Now
you want me to snuffle?” Celia whispered.

Father poked his head in. “Are you coming?” He paused. “What’s Celia doing under the blanket?”

“She’s playing hamster,” said Tate, prodding Celia with her foot. “And we were wondering …”

Celia began to make snuffling noises, and the blanket moved from side to side.

Tate moved toward her father. “Would it be
all right if we had supper up here in the playroom, on trays? We’d carry everything,” she added quickly.

Celia’s snuffles and squeaks became louder. Tate shot a look at Abner, who thumped the blanket-covered mound and hissed something under his breath. Celia fell silent.

Tate laid a hand on her father’s arm. “We hurt Celia’s feelings,” she said, speaking low. “So she pretended to be a hamster instead of our sister. And then we thought if we went along with it, and let her eat hamster food off a tray, she might feel better. We really do feel bad.”

She gave Derek a sharp glance, and he arranged his face in a look of sorrow.

Father raised an eyebrow. “That’s very nice of you kids. I’ll see what I can work out with your mother.”

“And maybe,” said Tate brightly, “you and
Mom could have a nice dinner alone, for a change! With candles!”

Father grinned. “Come on down, then, all of you. You can get your trays.”

“But not Celia,” Tate reminded him. “Because she’s a hamster, of course.”

“Of course,” said Father.

Abner caught at Tate’s sleeve as Father left the room. “How do you do that?” he whispered. “Think on your feet like that, so fast?”

Tate shrugged. “I don’t know. I just do.”

“Well, it’s a very useful skill,” said Abner with feeling as he followed her down the stairs.

Mother had sent up a bowl of fruit with supper, as extra hamster food, and Celia was entertaining Derek by stuffing her cheek pouches with apples.

“Can you fit in two bananas?” asked Derek with deep interest.

“Mmph woom,” said Celia.

Abner eyed Celia’s bulging cheeks with gloom. “We are in deep, deep trouble.” He had finished his supper, but he had not enjoyed it.

“I know,” said Tate. “And Hammy still isn’t talking.”

Celia was having a great deal of fun being a hamster, and she didn’t plan to worry until she had to. She spit out the apples and grinned at Derek with her long hamster teeth. “What’s for dessert?”

Derek lifted the lid of a square pan and whooped. “Chocolate cake!”

“You can’t have any, Celia,” said Tate. “Chocolate is poison for hamsters. I read it in the book.”

“No fair!” cried Celia.

“Can I have her piece?” asked Derek.

Celia humped her shoulders and rested her nose on her chest. She felt strangely unsatisfied. She wasn’t exactly hungry anymore, but she had a powerful urge to chew something—something hard, like
wood
.…

“Hey! Stop that!” Abner dragged her away from the sofa leg. “Look at those teeth marks!”

Tate picked up the hamster book again. “She
can’t help it. Hamsters need to gnaw. It keeps their teeth from getting too long.”

Celia had found something new to chew.

“No! Not my hockey stick!” Derek’s cry was anguished.