His middle name is Danger
So my birthday was this past Saturday. It was low-key. Steph came up (I love her!) and then some of my best friends here in Amherst came for a small get together. Steph got me a mouse. And no, not a computer mouse, a real mouse. His name is Johnny Hott (Two T's because anymore would be just too much). And like the title suggests, his middle name is Danger. Johnny Danger Hott.
A couple things you should know about J.D. Hott:
He smells. I never knew a mouse could smell so much. Everytime I come back from class and open the door to my room, I have to take a step back because of the mouse fumes. When I get my car back (it's in the shop right now getting repaired) I'm going out shopping and buying a lot of air freshners and putting it up around his cage.
He poops everytime I put him in his roll-y ball. I mean, what is he thinking? "Oh, he's putting me back inside the portable potty. Well now that I went, let me explore the apartment"? Hopefully he'll learn that it's not cool in this decade to roll around in your own filth.
He's super acrobatic. I swear to God he is like the Batman/Spiderman of mouses...errr...mice...ahem. In fact, Steph and I knew to pick him out when we saw him, I shit you not, climb onto the ceiling bars and just walk around on the ceiling upside down. That is fucking intense.
And of course, he has survival instincts. At first I didn't understand any of it: covering his food under the bedding, covering the entrance to his coconut house...but now it all makes sense. He's hiding from predators. Of course, there is no predator, but nonetheless, instincts don't die. He is a mutha fucking survivor!
So there you have it, Johnny Danger Hott in a nutshell, currently playing on the squeaky wheel attached to the roof of the cage. If I ever get a digital camera, I'll post pictures of it online. Peace!
A couple things you should know about J.D. Hott:
He smells. I never knew a mouse could smell so much. Everytime I come back from class and open the door to my room, I have to take a step back because of the mouse fumes. When I get my car back (it's in the shop right now getting repaired) I'm going out shopping and buying a lot of air freshners and putting it up around his cage.
He poops everytime I put him in his roll-y ball. I mean, what is he thinking? "Oh, he's putting me back inside the portable potty. Well now that I went, let me explore the apartment"? Hopefully he'll learn that it's not cool in this decade to roll around in your own filth.
He's super acrobatic. I swear to God he is like the Batman/Spiderman of mouses...errr...mice...ahem. In fact, Steph and I knew to pick him out when we saw him, I shit you not, climb onto the ceiling bars and just walk around on the ceiling upside down. That is fucking intense.
And of course, he has survival instincts. At first I didn't understand any of it: covering his food under the bedding, covering the entrance to his coconut house...but now it all makes sense. He's hiding from predators. Of course, there is no predator, but nonetheless, instincts don't die. He is a mutha fucking survivor!
So there you have it, Johnny Danger Hott in a nutshell, currently playing on the squeaky wheel attached to the roof of the cage. If I ever get a digital camera, I'll post pictures of it online. Peace!