Not that we were very responsible. Our landlady didn’t allow pets in the house but we’d decided to ignore this and already had a hamster each. Mine was called Killer and hers was Beryl, and we’d also just got a nine week-old ginger kitten called Timmy. What the landlady didn’t see, the landlady didn’t know about. 

For a while, the hamsters were allowed the freedom of the room to run and play each evening, though not together – we didn’t want lots of baby hamsters. And when it was Killer’s turn to play, Kerry would look after Timmy in her room and vice-versa when it was Beryl’s turn. One evening, during Beryl’s playtime, Kerry knocked on my door. Her face was pale.

“Beryl’s been eating the phone cable,” she said. “She’s not well. Can you come and see her?” 

I shut Timmy in my room and went downstairs. 

“She’s not moving,” Kerry said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think she’s okay? She’s had a go at the television cable too.”

She gently took Beryl from her cage and handed her to me. Beryl’s chestnut-brown fur looked dull. I stroked her back gently but there was no response.

“I could try something my brother used on one of his mice once,” I said. “It may sound weird, but a little sugar in warm water brought the mouse back from the brink.” 

Kerry was too upset and went out of the room while I made some sugar water and offered Beryl a little on my finger; but she just lay on the palm of my hand, not moving. After a minute, though, she licked my finger with her tiny tongue, drank a little more and then curled into herself, rocking a little from side to side. She seemed to be in pain and I didn’t know what to do so I just held her with both palms, trying to comfort her with my warmth.

Beryl became still. Then, to my utter amazement, her body definitely felt slightly lighter whilst, simultaneously, a puff of golden, hamster-sized mist lifted away from her body and evaporated in front of my eyes. I was stunned. Had I just seen her soul leaving her body? I didn’t believe in souls. So what had I seen? I held her a little longer then carried her body upstairs, deciding not to tell Kerry about the floating mist.

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “She’s gone.”

Kerry took her from me and held her tenderly. 

“She was only a year old,” Kerry murmured, stroking Beryl’s fur. “It’s dark now. Let’s bury her after work tomorrow evening. I’ll keep her here for now.”

“Can I get you anything? Some chamomile tea?”

Kerry’s face crumpled. She shook her head and I could tell she wanted to be left alone.

“If you need me,” I said, “come and knock on my door. It’s painful to lose a little friend.” 

As I prepared for bed, I kept thinking about Beryl. At first, I assumed my mind must have been playing tricks, but then decided to look at it from a scientific point of view. Did this vision amount to evidence? Why would I imagine something so whimsical, especially as I didn’t believe in souls or in Heaven? It was almost like seeing a cartoon of a soul leaving a body, except that soul was made up of tiny particles of a dark gold, misty dust. It had even been hamster-shaped! 

I knew that if this vision were real, the implications were massive. If it was my imagination – after all, it was exhausting working for the NHS and the mind can play all sorts of tricks when you’re tired – then I could just let it go. Yet I knew in my deepest heart that it wasn’t a trick of the light or the product of a tired brain. 

Still, I wasn’t ready to embrace the world of Spirit or God or anything like that. That’s why I hadn’t shared my experience with Kerry. She was a dear friend and perhaps she would have been enthralled with the idea that I’d seen something so amazing. Perhaps I should have been shouting it from the rooftops as proof that even hamsters go to Heaven. But I knew why I didn’t, I was still afraid of being ridiculed. Fear of rejection is a powerful motive for many of us.