I have to admit, I fell in love with shit lick the moment I first laid eyes on him.

The little guy had just stepped out of his wheel, where he'd been burning off that good old hamster energy.

He was sitting in the middle of his sawdust-covered cage, one hairy little leg stretched out,

cute little toes splayed vigorously licking his own ass.

Henceforth, the name.

Of course, my wife hated the name, just like she hated the little guy the minute I brought him in. She wouldn't even hold his cage on her lap. Told me to put the rat on the back seat.

Emma and I had only been married a year, and I already knew that I had made a massive mistake.

To be honest, I think the bald colonel downstairs had been running the show for some time when it came to Emma.

But not that I could blame him.

Emma was a money-grabbing narcissistic, wrapped in the package of a blonde goddess.

Only after we'd been married a few months had the mushroom master let all the blood rush back into my brain.

I myself had never been too much to look at.

I wasn't overly tall or particularly well built, and at 35 my hair had already begun to thin.

I guess my only redeeming qualities were my work ethic and my love of animals.

That particular ethic had served me well.

I was an upcoming lawyer in a prestigious firm.

Emma had been a clerk at my firm, and we had met at the Christmas party.

Soon after, we had been married, and she had quit her job, deciding to stay home

with her new best friend, my credit card. Not two months after she'd moved in, the complaints

about my animals had started. She had hated my two Labrador's, Nick and Mack, but it was my cat,

Mr. Fluffers, she hated the most. She constantly complained about the old guy's litter tray,

and God forbid he should jump into her lap, looking for any kind of affection.

...