Hamster Owner’s Diary: Day 100 – The Never-Ending Saga

In this candid and sarcastic diary entry, the owner reflects on 100 days of living with his unpredictable, demanding hamster, Princess Sparkles. From the constant squeaks of her wheel to the chaos she leaves in her wake, their relationship is anything but conventional. Despite their polar opposites—his need for structure versus her relentless spontaneity—the bond they share is undeniable. With humor and a touch of exasperation, the owner reveals the surprisingly deep love that has grown between them, making this wild journey something he never wants to end. Dive into this heartfelt yet hilarious story of pet ownership, chaos, and the beauty of unlikely companionship.

Day 100. A hundred days of living with an animal who is so small, so fluffy, and yet manages to control my entire existence. If I were asked a hundred days ago how I thought my life would be with a hamster, I would’ve said, “It’ll be a delightful little adventure!” Ha. What a fool I was. Now, after spending one hundred days as the self-proclaimed servant of Princess Sparkles, I can safely say my life has been nothing short of a circus—and I’m the clown.

Princess Sparkles, or as I like to call her, the Ruler of My Existence, is a living embodiment of chaos. I, on the other hand, am someone who thrives on order and predictability. I like structure. I like peace. I like to sip my coffee in the morning without being interrupted by what sounds like the relentless screeching of a thousand tiny nails on a chalkboard. But no. Apparently, my daily routine is a mere suggestion to her, not a reality.

The morning started as it always does—at 6:30 a.m. when the first rays of light filter through my window. I roll over, thinking maybe today will be different, maybe I’ll actually wake up feeling refreshed. But then… the sound. The squeak. The terrible, ear-piercing squeak of Princess Sparkles on her beloved wheel, grinding away like she’s training for the hamster marathon of the century.

I’ve tried to adjust it. I’ve padded it with cloth. I’ve greased it. I’ve spoken to it, in a calm and soothing voice, as though it has the capacity for reason. Nothing works. At this point, I’ve come to the sad conclusion that I’ll never know true peace again.

I pull myself out of bed, my body heavy with the weight of a thousand nights of interrupted sleep, and shuffle into the living room to face the beast. There she is, small and yet so very powerful, perched on her wheel like a queen surveying her empire. Her tiny paws move with laser precision, each step taken in a maddening frenzy. She doesn’t even acknowledge me. She’s so focused on her task, her little hamster mind undoubtedly convinced that the faster she runs, the closer she’ll get to some unknown hamster utopia.

“Sparkles, we’ve been over this,” I mutter under my breath, rubbing my eyes. “It’s 6:30 in the morning. Can’t you take a break for once?”

But, of course, she’s completely impervious to my requests. She looks at me, just for a second, and I swear I see a flicker of contempt in her eyes. The audacity of this tiny creature to ignore my pleas for mercy. She runs the show, and I’m just a player in her never-ending hamster drama.

Once I manage to tear my eyes away from the wheel (and try not to scream in frustration), I begin the usual routine of setting up Sparkles' morning breakfast. You’d think she’d be grateful for the meal I provide her each day—fresh veggies, seeds, the finest hamster mix money can buy. But no. Instead of eagerly awaiting her food, Sparkles continues her running routine, ignoring me like I’m a mere inconvenience in her perfectly organized world.

I place the bowl down slowly, hoping for at least a moment of acknowledgment. Maybe a tiny squeak of appreciation. But again, I’m met with the sound of a furry little tyrant galloping in circles, completely uninterested in the fact that I’ve just sacrificed half an hour of my life preparing her food.

I sit on the couch, scrolling through my phone, as I wait for her to finish. It’s a game at this point. I try to time it so I can offer her a treat at the exact moment she finally slows down, but no. As soon as I think she’s ready to settle, Sparkles takes off again, as if powered by an endless battery. And there I am, the fool, sitting and waiting. But hey, this is life as Princess Sparkles' servant, right?

There are moments—small moments—when I think I see a hint of affection from her. For instance, when I stick my hand out to feed her a small treat, she might sniff it cautiously. For about three seconds. Then she grabs it and scampers off, never looking back. No “thank you,” no “you’re the best,” just the cold, hard reality that I’m here to serve her, not the other way around.

“Thanks,” I mutter dryly, watching her retreat to her corner with the morsel clutched tightly in her paws. “You’re welcome.”

I attempt to clean her space, a task that is, of course, fraught with her subtle judgment. While I attempt to scoop out used bedding, re-organize her supplies, and generally make her world a little less chaotic (fat chance), Sparkles watches me from the sidelines with that same look she’s mastered over the last 100 days—the look that says, I could do this better, but I’m too busy being fabulous.

I’ve gotten used to this. I’ve accepted that cleaning up after her is a never-ending battle—one where the odds are always stacked against me. I’ll finish my work, and she’ll immediately scatter everything around as though I never touched a thing. It’s almost impressive how she can create chaos faster than I can undo it. And yet, I keep coming back. I keep trying.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, Sparkles finally slows down. She stops, panting, like a marathoner at the finish line. I cautiously approach, slowly offering my hand to her. This time, she looks at me—not with contempt, but with something more… curious. A tiny blink of an eye. For the briefest moment, I think she’s going to climb into my palm, maybe give me a little nudge of affection.

But no. Instead, she hops into her food bowl, starts nibbling away like nothing else matters. Her whole life is just one big feast, and I’m just here to provide. She knows this. I know this. We both accept this unspoken truth.

But here’s the thing: despite the total lack of gratitude, despite the ever-present noise, the mess, the chaos, I wouldn’t trade her for anything. I’m not sure how this happened—how I’ve come to love this chaotic, selfish little creature who runs circles around me (literally)—but here we are, 100 days later, and I’m still here. Still her servant. Still hopelessly in love.

She’s not the cuddly, affectionate pet I thought I was getting. Far from it. Sparkles is a whirlwind. She is the epitome of everything unpredictable and messy in my life, and yet… she’s exactly what I needed. She’s the tiny, fuzzy reminder that sometimes life is chaotic, and sometimes that chaos is where the magic happens.

Even as she spins away on her wheel again, after all the noise, the frustration, and the chaos, I can’t help but feel a strange sense of contentment. This journey, this bizarre, unpredictable, and often infuriating ride, has somehow turned into one of the most beautiful things in my life.

It’s amazing, really. The way this tiny creature has managed to shape my world, to turn it upside down, and make me see the joy in the madness. I can’t imagine a day without her, no matter how many wheels I’ll have to grease or how many 3 a.m. chases around the apartment we’ll have. This journey—no matter how absurd—has been worth every minute.

So, here’s to the next hundred days. And the hundred after that. Because as wild and unpredictable as it’s been, I know one thing for sure: I never want this to end.