the happiest half hours of life

Evening at the Chateau De Healy.
Heelers in an armchair with a plate of rashers.
MC Hamster on his knee watching the plate.
"You are one fat hamster Hammy," muses Ireland's greatest living poet. "You need to lose a little weight there."
"Hey," screams Hammy. "Who are you calling fat, Hippy?"
She screams it in a voice very like that of the character Cartman from the opprobrious television series Southpark.
I begin to cut off a piece of rasher for her as a peace offering.
Hammy is having none of it.
She lunges at the plate and grabs a full rasher.
For a moment I am stupefied.
Finally I manage to grate out: "You... dirty... great... golden... mouse."
Hammy is fully aware of the ancient law which states that a hamster making contact with a rasher will become sole possessor of that rasher, assuming there are no sheepdogs present.
"It's the law of the jungle Heelers," mutters Hammy through a mouthful of rasher. "Survival of the fattest."
The door opens.
The Mammy pokes in her head.
"Who are you talking to?" enquireth she.
"The hamster," sez me.
MC Hamster shakes her head.
"He wasn't talking to me Missus," she says. "If you ask me that boy ain't right."