Recently we looked after a friend’s hamster while they were on holiday.The children became rather attached to it and my daughter in particular seemed to find it soothing to have a cuddle with Stripe – for so the hamster was named – at the end of the school day or before bed.

I was then reminded of an article I wrote years earlier about pet therapy in hospitals – the introduction of small furry animals into paediatric wards – and there being some research that pets were comforting to children and a useful tool in helping traumatised children or aiding recovery from serious illness.

The penny suddenly dropped and it seemed as though this might be the answer to my highly-strung, insomniac daughter’s problems. Or at least a help.

So three weeks ago, off we traipsed to the pet shop – despite my formerly unshakable ban on pets due to the fact

a) we have no garden ( so dogs are out – and  I can provide a way longer list of why I don’t want a dog, especially in London, involving poops and scoops for starters)

b) we  are on the first floor (though I love cats, our balcony would surely be dangerous) and

c) our flat is so small I could not even work out where we would put a goldfish bowl.

We returned home with a high tech neon plastic cage (more a hamster spaceship); an exercise ball; a couple of sacks of food and monkey nuts; and enough cotton wool bedding to remove Lily Savage’s makeup for a decade. Oh, and of course Cinnamon, our 7-week-old hamster.

So far so good, right? We chose Cinnamon because there were only two and he was the cutest and – we were advised – the most suitable for children.

He came home in a small card box inside his new cage and Dominic at the pet shop suggested we should leave him in there to get used to his new environment. There were wails from the kids when we said no handling until day 2. But they were placated by the idea that they would take part in the acclimatisation process by getting in a (water -free) bath and allowing Cinnamon to run all over them.

The following day I put the kids in the bath and reached into the cage for Cinnamon. As I scooped him up he sank his teeth into my finger and made a leap for freedom. I chased him round the room using his cardboard travel box to scoop him up and finally popped him in the bath with the children for 10 minutes.  He scampered around trying desperately to escape, while I yelled “Don’t try to pick him up or he will bite you!” to my daughter.   Instead she found cunning ways of trapping  him so that he spent the majority of the time running over her body rather than her  younger brother’s.   He then starts screaming how unfair it is.  The combination of these factors and Cinnamon’s own innate terror lead him to do 17 poos in 10 minutes.   I decide this is not healthy and try to  rescue him  and despite another leap to freedom from my arms he is returned  to his cage.

Day 3 –  I decide to take him from his bed while he’s sleeping to make him easier to handle and transport to the bath for session 2.   Big mistake:  he wakes immediately and sinks his teeth so hard into my thumb that the following day the first aider at work decides she needs to clean the wound with antiseptic and put a bandage round it ( the first aid kit has no waterproof plasters in it ).   This time I use the exercise ball as a transportation pod, coax him in and tip him gently onto my children’s legs. They are wearing thick jeans on advice from mummy! And again my daughter manages to trap Cinnamon her end of the bath and cause more upset with her brother. Poo count 8. A great improvement.

Nevertheless, this was not what I expected from Hamster therapy and I went on the Internet for advice.  I was shocked to read that hamsters can take a couple of weeks to acclimatise. And that’s before you start handling them. Biting is not uncommon, as they are understandably terrified.

My daughter however is unfazed by my warnings and after two days takes him out of his cage at every opportunity – mornings and evenings – ignoring my cries that Cinnamon is asleep and is a nocturnal creature. As a result Cinnamon now responds to my daughter and my son feels left out. The fact the he cries shouts and screams while expressing his frustration does not help the hamster bond with him. But again my entreaties fall on deaf ears.

The  ”bonding equals calming” theory seems to be working for my daughter – which is good. She clearly loves him and gets huge comfort from cuddling him.

All going according to plan then. Well yes it was. Not so much since Saturday though when there was a major hamster-related  incident – involving a Houdini-like escape and disappearance!

I’m alone at home and think it will be nice to give Cinnamon his nightly exercise – a run round in his ball. I settle down to watch a documentary on David Bowie and think nothing of it. Half an hour later I go out to the kitchen to get a glass of wine and as I round the corner I see the exercise ball. Lid off. And empty. It is like a moment from a horror film.

I search all the rooms calling his name pitifully ( he’s never especially liked me mind you so this may not help)

I go on the Internet for advice (again) and start texting the more sensible of my friends – actually mainly to tell them how distraught I am, rather than looking for advice. Just as well, as their advice is – get another one that looks the same and put it in the cage before the kids get back!

I go back into the bathroom and …there he is – looking slightly grey and dusty. He stares at me. I stare back. I put my phone down and two texts come through. Clang  brrrr. Clang brrrr. Hamster and I exchange looks of sheer panic and he legs it – along the length of the bath a leap upwards that Tom Daly  would be proud of at the start of an Olympic dive and through the tiny hole round a pipe into the cavern under the bath.

I open the door the other end. Not too worried. We’ve been here before and last time I simply coaxed Cinnamon towards me with a peanut.

I grab a torch and a peanut and peer into the space under the bath. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. The space is bare. No rodent in sight. And then I notice a hole in the floorboards.

We live in a 7 storey Victorian house, converted very badly into flats. What this means is there are gaps and holes everywhere. We know this from the resident mouse who likes to mock us while zooming from one side of the flat to the other and vanishing apparently into thin air.

But what about poor Cinnamon. Is he trapped or just having fun exploring? Could he be attacked by the very street-wise mouse?

I’ve turned all the lights off and listened hard but I can hear nothing.

The first night I leave some peanuts and cheese in the bathroom where he disappeared and his cage with the door open in the vain hope he will just come home.   Now I’ve bought peanut butter and chocolate and left them in dishes near where cinnamon was last seen and in front of his cage back in its normal place  I’ve put the dishes  on top of plastic bags in the hope I will hear cinnamon walking across the bags. Another night has passed. Nothing.

Now I’m on my way to collect the children. They don’t know yet. They will not take it well.

I can think of nothing else other then the hamster, the last moment I saw him , if only I’d grabbed him quicker. I think I need therapy.