What happened to the hamster who was living wild in my local park

However, let me offer you some cheery tidings - a ray of hope, in a Pets-at-Home-sized and lettuce-scented package.

Here it is, ta-da. A local hamster has been rescued, when all hope had been lost.

I first learnt of - let’s call her Ms Snowball - a few days before Storm Eowyn hit. At the time, I was doom-scrolling Facebook.

In the same way as I want to be done with X and its head honcho, Elon Musk, I’m always thinking about cancelling this account, since Mark Zuckerberg is also a tech bro twit and the platform is now just a feed of National Enquirer-esque images and other pointless bumph.

Still, there are a few things that keep me in its thrall, like the local park group.

A message caught my eye. Someone had posted that they’d spotted a hamster in the undergrowth by a nearby bridge, and that she had been heading towards the park.

It was absolutely freezing, but they couldn’t catch her.

There was some concern and talk about calling out the SSPCA, though that seemed a bit daft since she could have sprinted off anywhere at this point. It’s not like this charity has night vision goggles for these eventualities.

Then there was another thread that questioned whether she was actually a hammie or not.

Apparently, there have been sightings of an albino squirrel around these parts, and some thought she was more likely to be one of those rare creatures.

Then another local Facebooker on the park group shared a pic of an amazing-looking white animal - the Steve Martin of squirrels - hanging out by their bird-feeder, and the chat was stunned into silence. It looked like a spectre, nibbling nuts. Amazing.

Still, the hamster identification was a possibility and, that night, I was passing the supposed rodent’s last known location, and had a look around, but no sightings. It was too dark.

I thought, oh well, there’s no chance she’s going to survive.

I mean, these are desert creatures, they’re not cut out for bitterly cold Scottish winters. They do not have the survival skills, after a life of Rotastak meets Dubai penthouse luxury.

And that was only the start of her challenge, because then the storm hit. It must have felt like Hamstergeddon. Her pouches must have been sooked inside out like trouser pockets in the tumble drier.

It seemed ironic that the name of her species is an anagram for thermals, as she might have been better prepared if she’d been wearing some of those.

I thought she couldn’t have survived.

Then - praise be - a few days later, there was another spotting, by the garages at the end of the park. A blurry image was shared, of her standing on the cobbles. Definitely a hamster.

“Is it though?” said my husband, when I showed him the picture. “I think it’s a rat.”

Whatever. It was an action shot, with her glancing over her shoulder, and she looked quite swashbuckling and very white.

Unless you’re a predator like a polar bear, that’s probably the worst colour to be, especially for a newbie to the feral lifestyle.

There are plenty of crows and ravens round here, not to mention cats and foxes. She would be easily spotted, and chomped down in three gooey-centred bites, like a Tunnock’s Teacake.

Also, what on earth would she be eating at this point - used chewing gum and crisp crumbs? I found myself Googling “Do hamsters eat grass?” and the answer was “yes”. Phew.

Anyway, she was offline and unable to get access to this information, so I decided that we should try and catch her.

Since hamsters are nocturnal and crepuscular, it was unlikely we’d spot her on our noon perambulations, but you never know.

We went along to her last known whereabouts - the garages, with a single carrot, because it’s all we had that might be vaguely tempting in the fridge.

I know, as a former hamster owner, that choc drops would’ve been the best lure, but I’m out of stock. I also wondered if I should’ve worn gardening gloves, in case she was a bit savage. Anyway, there was no sign, though there was a white Greggs bag that got our hearts leaping for a second.

Not that we made a huge effort, as there were lots of people around, and it seemed a bit embarrassing to be waving a carrot around like a glow-stick at a rave.

We gave up, and forgot about it. Then, nearly two weeks after the initial sighting of the escapee, news came.

On the Facebook group, they posted that she had been captured. She was healthy and had been checked by a vet. She WAS a hamster, not an albino squirrel or a rat.

Apparently, a dedicated local had gone out every day to try to catch her, and had eventually succeeded. I bet they had choc drops all over their person.

Anyway, I messaged the rescuer directly to find out more, but no reply. Fair enough, only a weirdo would want to write an entire column about an escaped hamster.

I guess we’ll never know if Ms Snowy has a family, and escaped, or was left in the park by a cruel owner, who will hopefully reap some bad karmic juju.

Still, it was lovely to see the proper clear picture that they’d posted on the Facebook group.

She was a bit sepia-tinged, as if she’d taken up smoking Lambert & Butlers because of the stress, but looked surprisingly fat. And defiant. She had her rump to the camera, as if to say, she was absolutely fine out there and battered any crow that came near. She’s the Bear Grylls of hamsters.

After that adventure, I don’t think her wheel is going to offer the same thrills as it used to.

Still, I’m very glad she survived.

Thanks for the rare happy news, Ms Snowy.