This is absurd.
I am a grown man with a senior editorial role in Toronto.
I should not be emotionally destabilised by rodent content.
And yet.
My thumb hovers over the message icon.
No contact for a month.
Exactly what I asked for.
A clean line.
This account should not change that.
Except suddenly the line feels fake.
Artificial.
Like the universe has quietly pushed Mark back into my day and is waiting.
I open messages.
Type three different openings.
Delete all of them.
Hi, I found the hamster account and am apparently jealous.
No.
So Heath has become more famous than both of us combined.
Absolutely not.
Why are you shirtless on the internet?
Jeez.
I rub a hand over my face.
Then I type:
I appear to have discovered that my hamster has become an online public figure.
I stare at it.
Neutral enough.
Light enough.
Nowhere near honest enough to be dangerous.
My thumb hovers.
Then I hit send.
