The Animal Whisperers

. . .1. . .

Samantha Monroe

It all started with Christina Lawrence's hamster.

He was a cute little guy, about the size of your palm and covered in a mop of golden-brown fur. He was your average commercial hamster. You know, the kind you see on pet cleaner labels and such. Christina had gotten him as an early birthday gift for her fourteenth birthday from some distant uncle and had named him Noodle. Not a very flattering name, but he was just an ordinary hamster.

At least, that's what I thought until the day I slept over at Christina's house.

Christina and I have been best friends since grade school. Since our birthdays are one day after each other—Christina's on September fourth, and mine on September fifth—we always have a traditional birthday sleepover. She likes to tease me because I'm one day younger than her, but I always remind her that a few hours earlier and we'd share the same birthday.

When I arrived on her doorstep at seven p.m. on Wednesday evening after an exhausting soccer practice, she practically dragged me inside her house, showing me the furry hamster. Seeing that her older brother has an allergy to fur, it was extra special that Christina's parents had let her keep Noodle.

After a delicious dinner of Pasta Bolognese cooked by Mr. Lawrence, a professional chef, we went up to Christina's room and got caught up on each other's lives. We went to the same middle school, but now that we're freshmen, Christina goes to Valley High and I go to Beech High since we live in 'different cities'. Technically, our houses are only ten minutes away from each other, but I doubt the county officials would care about two middle school friends separated by city border lines. I've made friends at Beech, but they aren't really sleepover friends like Christina.

We finally went to bed around 1a.m., after Christina's brother banging on the door and telling us to be quiet. Christina fed Noodles, who was on her desk in a blue cage. I was exhausted from my school day and soccer practice, so I went to sleep right away. The last thing I remember thinking was: I'm turning fourteen in two hours!

~~~

I awoke hearing a muffled voice.

At first I thought I was dreaming, because Christina was sound asleep and nobody else was in the room. I groggily rolled over and checked the alarm clock sitting on Christina's bedside table. 3:02 a.m. it read, in monotone letters. Happy birthday to me, I thought.

I heard the muffled noise again. At first I thought it was just gibberish, but I realized I could make out some words. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

"Ouch!"

Nope, not dreaming. Then what was making that noise? I slowly got out of my sleeping bag, cringing when I heard the floorboards creak beneath my feet. (I hate how every little sound is magnified in the night!) I slowly turned, surveying Christina's room, until I heard the source of the noise.

I crept slowly over to Noodle's cage, growing more confused as the sound grew louder. When I'd reached Christina's desk, I could hear what the little voice was saying.

"All out of seeds? Oh, darn. I thought she'd given me enough to last all night. I love seeds, especially that little crunch they make when you chew them! Sunflower seeds are the best. When you break open the hard shell and find that sweet, tender inside—"

I slowly bring my face level with the cage. With bated breath, not daring it to be true, I whisper, "Noodles?"

The small hamster shuffles around in his cage, burrowing into the bedding. "What an odd name! But that's what the Food Giver calls me, and if that gets me more sunflower seeds, I'm all ears!" Noodles finally looks up at me with his big glossy eyes. "Gosh, you're huge!" he squeaks, doing a hamster double-take. "Do you have any sunflower seeds for me? Those crunchy seeds are so good! I especially love that spurt of energy I get after I eat them! I feel like I can run a mile on my wheel after just one bite of those delectable crunchy treats. . ."

My eyes get bigger and bigger as Noodles continues to describe all of the aspects of a sunflower seed. I think the lack of sleep might be affecting me.

I hear Christina shift in bed. "Sam?" she murmurs. "Why are you up?"

"Your hamster is talking to me," I whisper in shock. Sue me—It's the only rational sentence I can form at three o' clock in the morning.

"Food Giver can't hear me," Noodles squeaks earnestly. "None of the other Big Things can either. It can be very frustrating when they walk by my cage. If they'd move the food bag a little bit closer, I could eat whenever I want! I can just imagine diving through those seeds. . ."

Christina cocks her head. "I don't hear anything," she says. "You're probably just hearing Noodles shuffling his shavings around. He does that a lot at night. You were probably dreaming." she rolls over and her breathing slows.

~~~

After a birthday breakfast of pancakes and whipped cream, mom picks me up. I say goodbye to Christina, trying hard to ignore the chattering of Noodles in the background that seemingly no one else can hear.

I hop into the front seat of our van, my mind a jumbled mess from the activity of the previous night. I mumble one-word responses to mom's questions on the drive back, gazing noncommittedly out the window.

While my mom battles uptown traffic, going about three miles per hour on the highway near our house, my gaze stops on a tall blonde boy walking a rather large golden retriever near Beech Middle. People walk their dogs around our house all the time, but there was something that seemed off about this boy. My eyes followed him as he ducked behind a tall trash can—hidden from passers-by but not by our car—then crouched down and. . . Started talking to his dog.

People talk to their dogs all the time—especially those little furballs people call pocket pets. But the boy seemed to be having an actual conversation—nodding at intervals, mouthing words that I couldn't make out. Our car slowly started inching its way out of the traffic clump and I realized that my only source of information on my strange newfound power was leaving.

"Mom, please stop the car!"

My mom slammed on the breaks, causing us both to jolt forward. "For goodness sake, Sam, what is wrong?"

"I, um, left my soccer cleats in my locker! I can't play in tomorrow's game without them!" It was only partly a lie—we did have a game tomorrow and I couldn't play without my cleats—but my cleats weren't actually at school, they were tucked neatly under my bed. I didn't even know if the school was open on a Saturday morning. Luckily, my mom didn't know about my secretly stashed cleats, so she sighed and unlocked the doors, letting me hop out. "Our house is only a block from here, so meet me at home once you're done, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, mom!" I say, hopping out of the car and running in the general direction of Beech. Little did mom know that I was not going to be grabbing my soccer shoes. I was going to be getting some answers.