A caged hamster with one of those funny-looking wheels to be exact.
When the wheel is swiped away and the poor rodent can’t run, no matter how strong its little vermin heart may be the hamster will eventually shrivel up and die… of boredom, most likely.
Not having a writing project to spin my wheels on (as The Hushing Days’ edits are far beyond my time and place at the moment) has left my imagination feeling rather useless.
Did you know a hamster is terrible at twiddling its thumbs? Well, it is. Trust me.
I’m desperately afraid that my little rat-in-cute-clothing will turn mischievous on me.
Perhaps try an escape?
Or worse yet, try building its own makeshift wheel in there. (“Makeshift wheel” equals new short story project there simply isn’t room for… The placards of “You will NOT look at calls for submissions!” I’ve pinned all around its cage have taken up any spare room in the old noggin.)
*sighs, while running maddeningly in place*
Bottom line: A hamster wheel is a terrible thing to waste.