Before She Became a Story, She Was Oink
A little tribute to the hamster behind so much of what I write today.
Around this period last year, my life was chaotic.
Oink left on 1 September 2025, and now that August is here again, I find myself thinking about those final weeks more than usual.
There were vet visits, medication, monitoring, worrying and constantly trying to figure out what else I could do for her. But the part I remember the clearest was holding her every night and sobbing.
Her tiny body was slowly losing weight and because I had held her so many times before, I could feel it without even looking at the weighing scale.
That feeling is something I cannot forget.
I don’t think I knew before Oink how painful it could be to grieve someone who was still right there with you. I could still hold her, kiss her, talk to her and tell her everything was okay, while at the same time knowing somewhere inside me that I was slowly losing her.
It was a kind of pain I really wasn’t prepared for.
And maybe because I have written so much about Oink through her illness, grief, medical bills and everything that happened after she left, I realised something recently.
I never actually properly introduced her.
Not sick Oink.
Not Oink the lesson.
Just Oink.
My little girl.
She Was My Perfect Hamster
Oink was my first pet.
She came into my life as a surprise birthday present because my friend kept seeing me share cute hamster reels on Instagram and probably thought, Grace likes hamsters, hamster is small, can already.
Honestly, I probably knew just as little at that time.
I definitely didn’t expect to become so bonded with a hamster.
One of the first things that surprised me about Oink was that she knew her name.
At first I thought it was a coincidence. I would call “Oink Oink” and she would react.
Once, okay, maybe coincidence.
Twice, still possible.
Then three times, four times, and eventually I knew it wasn’t random anymore.
During roaming, I could call her name like someone calling a puppy and she would come running towards my voice.
“Oink Oink!”
And here she came.
Who would have known a hamster could recognise her name?
At least I didn’t, until she did.
In fact, Oink responded to her name much better than Sesame does now. I can call Sesame a thousand times and he will only react when he feels like it. Oink, on the other hand, would actually come running when I called “Oink Oink”.
Different personality.
Not long after, I also realised she had a habit of waiting for me quietly on her platform whenever she wanted attention.
The problem is, a hamster doesn’t meow. A hamster doesn’t bark.
If I was doing something else, I wouldn’t even know Madam was sitting there waiting for me.
So I had this crazy idea of giving her a bell.
I thought maybe I could slowly teach her that if she rang it, I would come over.
And on day one, she learnt it.
Ring bell, mommy appears.
That was the beginning of her butler bell.
After that, whenever she wanted something, she knew exactly what to do. I used to think I had successfully trained my hamster to ring a bell, but looking back, I think Oink was the one who trained me.
She had basically discovered a button that summoned her human.
Oink was also incredibly affectionate with me.
The first time she fell asleep in my hands, I remember sitting there completely frozen. I actually held my breath because I was scared that if I moved even slightly, she would wake up.
I was just staring at this tiny hamster sleeping in my palm thinking, don’t move, don’t breathe too much.
Eventually it became part of our normal routine. She would sleep in my hands and I stopped panicking every time she closed her eyes.
But I still remember that first time.
There was something about knowing this tiny prey animal felt safe enough to sleep on me that really got me.
And she was all love and kisses too.
She groomed my hands, my face, my nose and even my lips.
Sounds gross, I know.
But to me it was all love.
She had never bitten me. Not once.
Everything was licks.
Maybe I am biased because she was mine, but honestly, she was my perfect hamster.
She knew her name. She came when I called. She slept in my hands. She groomed me. She rang for me when she wanted something.
And then there was her very serious personal hygiene.
Oink was a clean freak.
Before her daily roaming schedule, she had her own little routine. She would roll around in her sand, pee, clean herself up and then she was ready to come out with all fur in place like she’s ready for a red carpet event.
When roaming ended and she went home, she would do almost the same thing again.
Sand bath, toilet, clean herself.
Basically freshen up before going out, then freshen up again when she came home.
Very proper.
Very Oink.
She also never liked peeing where she slept. Even during her final days, when she was already so weak and tired, she still insisted on making her way to the other end of the box to do her business.
That tiny habit still gets me.
Her body was struggling, but she was still my clean freak little baby.
Still particular.
Still Oink.
The Little Life We Had Together
Oink loved roaming, so her roaming time slowly became part of my own routine too.
I couldn’t just let her out and go back to gaming while trusting a hamster to make sensible decisions on her own.
That would have been very optimistic.
So gaming paused.
Oink roamed.
I watched her.
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And somehow this became normal.
I think that’s how pets slowly take over your life. It isn’t always one huge moment. It is all these small things that slowly become part of your day.
You know when they wake up. You know what they are waiting for. You know where they like to sit. You adjust your plans without even thinking about it anymore.
Then one day you realise this tiny animal has somehow taken up a huge amount of space in your life.
Oink was also very curious.
This is probably the more controversial part because I know bringing hamsters out isn’t something everyone agrees with, and I don’t think every hamster would enjoy it either.
But Oink really didn’t like staying inside her carrier when we were out.
She preferred sitting safely in my hands and looking around.
So yes, there were times I was walking around carrying this tiny hamster in my palm while she looked at everything like some little tourist.
We even managed to sneak in a little vacation together once, with her staying in a big IKEA bin setup.
When I say it now, it sounds quite ridiculous.
But back then it was just our life.
She came along. I carried her. She looked around. We went home.
One of my favourite things we did together was much quieter.
Back at my old place, we had a balcony.
Whenever it rained, we would rush over and watch the rain together.
I would hold her safely in my palm while we felt the cooler breeze and listened to the raindrops outside.
She would just snuggle there quietly.
I don’t even remember how this became our thing.
Somehow it just did.
Whenever I heard the rain, I would think, come Oink, rain watching.
There was nothing exciting about it. We were literally just standing there watching rain.
But those moments became some of my favourite memories with her.
Just me, Oink, the breeze and the sound of raindrops.
Our Last Rain Watch
Then August 2025 happened.
By then, everything that used to feel normal had become something I was watching closely.
How much she ate.
How much she drank.
Her weight.
How she moved.
Whether she looked comfortable.
Every little thing suddenly mattered.
And every night, I held her, cried and sang to her Mockingbird.
Now hush little baby don’t you cry
Everythings gonna be alright
Stiffen that upper lip up little lady
I told ya, mommy’s here to hold ya
Through the night
I know it’s painful right now and we don’t know why
We feel how we feel inside
It may seem a little crazy, pretty baby
But I promise, Mama’s gonna be alright
I sobbed so much while she was lying there in my hands because I could feel how much lighter she had become.
That whole period was so chaotic that I don’t think I properly processed what was happening while I was inside it. I was too busy thinking about the next medication, the next vet visit, whether she had eaten enough and what else I could possibly do.
But the feeling of holding her while knowing she was slowly getting weaker is something that stayed ‘till today.
On one of her final nights, it rained.
So we had one last rain watch.
I held her in my palm like I always did.
By then she was much lighter than the Oink I used to carry to the balcony.
But for that little while, we did something familiar again.
We listened to the rain.
We felt the breeze.
Just like before.
And that became our last one.
Oink left on 1 September 2025.
That day, it was drizzling.
I remember thinking how strangely fitting it felt.
Rain was something we had always enjoyed together, and somehow it came again on the day she left.
Maybe it was simply weather.
But at that moment, it didn’t feel like just weather to me.
It felt like the rain was telling me Oink is free now.
Like it was washing away all the pain her tiny body had been through and she was finally ready for her next adventure.
No more medication.
No more vet visits.
No more tired little body.
Just Oink.
Free.
I don’t know what happens after we leave this life. I don’t pretend to know.
But I like to think there’s a next world after she has crossed the rainbow bridge
Before She Became a Story, She Was Oink
Part of my life now somehow traces back to Oink. Wo was only with me for a merely of 535 days.
She brought me into the hamster community. After her came Truffle, Sesame and eventually hamster fostering. She changed how I looked at small animals and somehow gave me something to write about again.
There are many things I could say Oink taught me.
But I don’t really want this article to be about lessons.
I just wanted you to know her.
Because before Oink became the hamster I grieved, before she became part of all these articles and before I started writing about everything that happened after her, she was my little girl with her own funny habits, routines and very strong opinions about how her mommy should behave.
She was the hamster who came running when I called, rang her butler bell, slept in my hands, groomed my face like it was the most normal thing in the world, and watched the rain with me.
And somehow, when I think about Oink now, I always come back to that old balcony. The cooler breeze. The sound of raindrops. My little clean freak baby safely snuggled in my palm while we watched the rain together.
Then, on the day she left, the rain came one more time.
Maybe it was just rain.
Or maybe, for me, it was Oink’s way of telling me she was okay now.
That she didn’t need to suffer the pain during her final days anymore.
That all the pain had been washed away.
And my little girl was ready for her next adventure.
