Observations and Innuendo

[Mufasa]

Feb / Wichita

My neighbor - cute little thing... early thirty something... probably Greek ancestry or Turkish. She waves from her patio as I multi-task: Shovel snow, grill kabobs and try to seriously damage a bottle of Bela Sera.
She is carrying a hampster cage and a trash can - not the little corner wastebaskets that you see in Bed Bath & Beyond... but a galvanized steel, fifteen gallon, dual-handled unit.
She waves and says to come do hers after I'm done. I refrain from the comment that is desperately trying to crawl out between of my tightly-clenched teeth and say, "Uh huh" instead.
She giggles and bats those long Greek/Turkish eyelashes.
She toys with Mufasa. Never a good thing.

Where was I...
Oh yeah, trash can... Hampster.

She sits the can down and proceeds to up-end the hampster cage while simultaneously holding the little fur-encased varmint to one side... as she also holds the door of the cage open so the "droppings" and such can be shaken into the shiny-steel trash can. Miscalculation.

Hampster sails out of the relative safety of his cage, executes a reverse one and a half gainer with a twist... and impacts the bottom of the steel trash can.
WHUMP!

Greek/Turkish girl squeals.

I cannot believe what I have just witnessed, and think, "how long will it take me to post this?", while also holding onto the railing to prevent myself from falling off the deck due to laughter.

Greek/Turkish girl retrieves the now traumatized mini fur missile from the bottom of the oh-so-cruel steel waste recepticle, and inspects the creature while he eyes her suspiciously. She yells: "Do you think he's ok?... Michael... IT'S NOT FUNNY!"
I wipe away tears so that I can see her more clearly. I tell her to give him mouth to mouth... you know... just to be sure, and I will call the EHMS (Emergency Hampster Medical Services).
She glares at me.
I tell her I'm going to call the ASPCH... (American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Hampsters).
She takes her little nearly-wall-mounted trophy inside to attend to his injuries... or to pick the trash remnants outta his fur, not sure.... and I continue my thankless task and await the next slam of Wichita snow to once again remove all hope for a decent weekend of mirth and merriment at the paintball field.