Farewell to Cinnamon

This is Cinnamon. My 9 yr. old daughter's hamster. She (? - we called her a "she" at my daughter's request - who knew?) came to live with us back in December. A wonderful Christmas surprise, until she started biting (the hamster! not the daughter!)!
In the last few months, March and April, she bit my girl no less than 4 times and drew blood on 1/2 of those occassions. Nasty little bugger!
My son started referring to Cinnamon as "the evil, blood sucking, rodent", which was not far off the mark. Cinnamon was a whole lot less fun and considerably more toothy. So much so, that she chewed the clasp off her cage that kept it shut and a hole through the bottom of her food cup. Wouldn't touch the nice pieces of cherry wood that we put in the cage for her to nibble. No, I believe Cinnamon had turned the corner. She knew she was on her way out. So she gnashed anything she could (People included!) get her teeth on, as her way of saying, "Screw this, I'm dying here, anything is fair game!"
We had tears, and "remember when?" stories, and finally a ceremony to bury Cinnamon (kind of a Cinnabury-sorry I just couldn't help myself!). We buried her right in our own pet cemetary in the yard (hey, we live in Stephen King country, would you expect any less?) where Paco, Benny, and several goldfish (most named Goldie) rest. At the end of it all my daughter said she wanted a hamster break. No more, for now.
Ah, Cinnamon we hardly knew ye!
And you?
Well, ye heartily chewed me!