The knock on the door came Tuesday morning, a little before seven. I was in my robe, coffee in hand. The kids were getting ready for school, the wife upstairs applying makeup.
I peered out the little window by the door and saw two guys, both late twenties, maybe thirty. Parked at the curb was a Toyota that appeared to have been built during the Clinton administration. Hmmmm.
I opened the door and got a better look at the pair. The smaller guy was in charge, closer to the door and did all the talking.
“We’re here for the hamster,” he said, glancing at his iPad.
The guy behind him wore a blue work shirt with a name embroidered on it. Tim. Below that a small patch with the name of a company.
Snatch-a-Pet
Hmmmm, again.
“The hamster?” I asked.
“Yes,” the first guy said. “The hamster.”
Tim nodded blankly, like he kind of agreed with the other guy, but still wasn’t quite sure why he was up at this hour, and with a man asking about a hamster.
“Ah, we don’t have a hamster,” I said. “And I didn’t catch your name. But I see that’s Tim behind you.”
“I’m Bill,” he said. “And we’re here to repossess your hamster. You’re thirty-six hours late on the August payment.”
I sipped my coffee in the hopes of jolting my brain awake and diffusing this before it escalated.
“Well, Bill, if we had a hamster I’d gladly turn it over to you, I’m not fond of them,” I said. “But I’m sorry to say I can’t help you.”
“We get this all the time,” Bill said. “People think it’s all fun and games. They have a pet and the kids are happy. And they think they can just skip payments on their furry little friend and nothing will happen. Well, you know what, something will happen. We happen.”
Tim offered another one of his patented blank nods. For the first time I noticed a little case in his hand, like a mini cat carrier. He looked like a grown man carrying a doll accessory.
“And you know what,” Bill continued. “You should have thought about this when you agreed to the lease-to-own contract for little Harry.”
“Harry?” I asked.
Bill checked his iPad again and said, “Yes, Harry, the family hamster. You purchased him at GetPets eighteen months ago for just forty-nine cents down.”
Tim let out a little grunt and shook his head like I had been exposed as a liar, cheat and fraud. Then he sneered like he was ready to get aggressive.
“Look, Bill,” I said, “I’d like to help you out, but–“
“But nothing,” Bill said.
Tim made his move. He stepped forward like he had been invited in, and spoke for the first time. “Want me to take a look around? It’s probably in a kid’s room somewhere.”
“Whoa, whoa,” I said, putting a hand up. “No one’s taking a look around.”
Bill was agitated now. “Look big fella, you should have thought about all this before you defaulted on the pet lease you signed when you decided to buy Harry.”
“There is no Harry,” I insisted. “And what the hell are you talking about, leasing some hamster?”
“Playing dumb,” Tim said, with a menacing tone. “Maybe he’ll smarten up when I go inside and find Harry.”
Bill was scrolling through his iPad. “Says right here you got another sixteen payments to go on the lease. Also says we, the finance company, can repossess said pet if the customer defaults on a payment. You’re thirty-two hour grace period is up. Time for the kids to say goodbye to little Harry.”
“What financing company?” I asked.
“Like you don’t know,” Tim said.
“PetCash,” Bill said. “That’s who I’m with.”
“Then what the hell is, Snatch-a-Pet?” I asked, motioning toward Tim.
“That’s our enforcement arm,” Bill said.
“Enforcement arm?” I asked.
“Yeah, for when deadbeats don’t make payments,” Tim said.
“Okay look, I don’t know what kind of scam you’re running, but you two need to leave before I call the cops.”
“Sure, just give us Harry,” Bill said.
“You shoulda read the fine print,” Tim said.
“There was no fine print,” I said, my voice rising. “Because there was no contract.”
“I know…I know…you didn’t realize what your were signing, blah, blah, blah,” Bill said. “Ever occur to you there was a reason you got Harry the Hamster for just forty-nine cents down? No, huh? Maybe you just conveniently didn’t see the part about the 96 monthly payments.”
I heard the kids moving around upstairs. This needed to end before we had an audience.
“I got a copy of the receipt right here,” Bill said, offering me the iPad. “It was signed for by your wife, Kate.”
“My wife’s name isn’t Kate, idiot,” I said, taking the iPad and reading the receipt. “And you’re not on Wesley Lane either.”
I handed it back to him just as my wife came down the stairs. “What’s going on down here, honey,” she asked.
“Is your name Kate?” Bill asked.
“Kate?” she said.
“These men were just leaving so they wouldn’t be arrested,” I said.
“Who’s Kate?” she asked.
“Where’s the hamster?” Tim asked.
“What hamster?” she asked. “We have a ferret, not a hamster.”
“Aha,” Bill said.
“It’s the cutest thing, remember when I got it, honey?” she said. “The kids talked me into at the pet store. It was just five-dollars down and we could pay it off over time.”
Outside Bill was nodding, and Tim was smiling.
“We’ll see you in a few months, pal,” Bill said.
“And we won’t be so nice,” Tim said.