One day, a bad thing happened. I came back from lunch and Pellet was gone! He wasn’t hiding on my desk or in the drawers or on my chair or on the floor. I accused the department prankster of taking him. He scoffed at me. I accused the rest of the department of taking him. They took offense.
And then I got the email:
He had been kidnapped. I awaited further instructions, and was eventually able to negotiate Pellet’s ransom with a piece of yellow cake (buttercream frosting and sprinkles). He was returned to me the next day with his little hands bound together by a rubber band and a corner scrap of black plastic bag over his head (that’s a true story, but it was years ago and I didn’t think to take a picture – probably quite an offensive picture, anyway…).
Anyway, eventually he got over it and came out from the warm spot behind my computer tower (his safe place), and has thrived. (Thriven? Throve? He thrives. Whatever.) I maintain that he suffered a touch of Stockholm Syndrome, because one of his kidnappers was Scott (his coach and choreographer from Dance Day), but he doesn’t seem to have any permanent damage.