Mama always say, "Rusty ain't smart, but he ain't cat-stupid." An' dat was important. Cuz bein' dumb an' bein' cat-dumb was two different fings.
See, hamsters? We gotta learn fast. We gotta think fast. If a shadow move funny, we run. If da air smell weird, we hide. If we see a cat, we don' even fink. We just gone.
Cats? Dey don' gotta learn nuffin'. Cuz da world already work in dey favor. Dey got claws. Got teeth. Got hooman hands dat feed dem. Dey don' run from fings. Dey watch. Dey wait. Dey play pretend.
An' when dey play pretend long enough?
Dey win.
Rusty was not a winner. But somehow, he was still alive.
Mama followed Rusty to his "food pile." She didn' trust him, but she also didn' wanna let us starve. Me an' my brothers an' sisters waddled behind her, sniffin' da air, listenin' close. Da night was too quiet. No owl hoots. No fox rustlin'. Just da wind whisperin' through da trees.
Didn' like it.
Rusty led us to a big ol' rock in da middle of a clearin'. It was weird. Hamsters don' live in clearin's. We like tunnels, holes, dark cozy spots. Big Open Spaces? Dat's how you get eaten.
But right dere, by da rock, was da food pile. An' ohhh, what a pile! Seeds! Berries! Even sum hooman snacks—da crunchy kind in da lil' plastic bags. My belly rumbled just lookin' at it.
Mama narrowed her eyes. "Sweek?" ("How you get dis much food?")
Rusty puffed up his chest. "Sweek! ("I strong! I brave! I steal from hoomans!")
Mama sniffed. "Sweek." ("You dumb.")
Rusty beamed. "Sweek!" ("Yeah!")
Mama sighed. But she didn' argue. Food was food. She gave us da nod, an' we scurried over to grab what we could.
Den… sumthin' shifted.
Not a sound. Not a rustle. Just a feeling.
Mama's fur puffed up. My ears twitched. Rusty paused, a seed halfway to his mouth.
Da shadows around da clearin' felt… heavier. Like dey was watchin'.
Mama whispered, "Sweek." ("Run.")
Den da air went cold.
No one saw it. Not at first. Cuz dat's how cats work. Dey don' charge. Dey don' make noise. Dey wait.
Da first fing I noticed was da eyes. Glowy, slitty, lurkin' in da darkness. Den, da tail, flickin' slow-like, like it had all da time in da world.
Den? Da voice.
A low, rumbly purr. Smooth. Amused. Dangerous.
"Well well… what do we have here?"
Da world froze.
Rusty dropped his seed. I swear it hit da ground in slow motion.
Mama's eyes went wide. "SQUEAK!" ("RUN!")
I bolted. My siblings bolted. Even dumb-dumb Rusty bolted.
But Mama? Mama charged.
Right at da cat.
I only saw da fight in flashes—fur, claws, screeches, da blur of Mama movin' faster than I ever seen before.
She bit da cat's nose. She scratched his ear. She screeched so loud da night itself flinched.
But da cat was big. Too big. An' too smart.
He didn' panic. Didn' hiss. Didn' lash out.
He just… smiled.
"Brave," he purred. "But foolish."
Den?
He batted Mama aside like she was nuffin'.
She hit da dirt hard.
I sweeked so loud my ears hurt.
Mama tried to stand. She wobbled. Blood dripped from her fur.
Da cat took a slow, lazy step forward.
I thought it was over.
Den?
Rusty happened.
Rusty ain't a fighter. He ain't smart. But he is one thing.
He is a disaster.
An' sometimes?
Dat's enough.
I dunno how he did it. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was fate. Maybe Rusty's whole life was leadin' up to dis one, single, beautiful moment of pure, unhinged chaos.
Cuz one second, da cat was smirkin' down at Mama.
Da next?
Rusty dropped a whole-ass hooman flashlight on his head.
BONK.
Da cat yowled. He staggered back, shakin' his head, da glowy eyes flickerin' like a busted lightbulb.
Rusty screamed, "SWEEEEEK!" ("BONKED YA, STABBY-FLUFFY!") an' grabbed da flashlight, smackin' it against da ground.
It turned on.
A beam of hooman light blasted da cat right in his face.
Da cat shrieked an' bolted.
Just gone.
Silence.
Mama groaned, strugglin' to stand. We rushed to her side, nudgin' her, helpin' her up. She was bruised. Bleedin'. But alive.
Rusty stood over her, chest puffed, holdin' da flashlight like it was Excalibur. "Sweek!" ("I DID IT!")
Mama, breathless, looked up at him. "Squeak?" ("How you even get a flashlight?")
Rusty blinked. Looked down at it. Looked back at her.
"Sweek?" ("...Dunno.")
Mama groaned an' flopped on da ground.
Rusty turned to us, grinnin' wide. "SWEEK!" ("I AM DA MIGHTY BONK-MASTER!")
Me an' my siblings stared.
An' in dat moment?
I realized sumthin' awful. Sumthin' terrifyin'.
We owed our lives to da dumbest guinea pig in da whole wide world.
An' worst of all?
We guessed that he was now our Dad.