Gemotions

The advertisement, a photo of a tiny hamster, glittered on the fridge. Sarah chewed her lip, rereading the ad’s sad plea, a call to a home. Her roommate, Mark, scowled from the couch. “Absolutely not,” he grumbled, flipping a TV channel. “I don’t want to clean up after some furry rodent.”

She imagined the hamster, trapped in a cage, its tiny claws scrabbling at the plastic walls. A wave of something akin to sadness washed over her. The thought of it, alone and unloved, gnawed at her.

"But Mark, it needs someone," she countered, her voice gentle, "and it’s… so small. It wouldn't take much effort." She thought about the endless, lonely nights the hamster might spend without human interaction.