Harry Hedgehog Café describes itself as a “space to get in touch with and befriend a hedgehog.” The last hedgehog I’d gotten in touch with was my third-grade class pet, Vlad the Impaler. (My teacher was Ms. Frizzle-level eccentric and named all the class animals after historical figures. The chicken was Anne Boleyn.) Hedgehogs, though, are one of the things that Instagram’s mysterious algorithm has decided I’m interested in, along with the British royal family (inexplicable), and slow-motion videos of people digging into lava cakes (accurate). Hedgehog lovers have been blessing my feed with pics of the animal’s adorable antics since even before the New York Post called hedgehogs “the It Girl of exotic pets” in 2014. I couldn’t wait to finally get my hands on one.Technically, the collective noun for a group of hedgehogs is a prickle. Most of Harry’s prickle of 20 to 30 hedgehogs were busy snoozing, with their snouts burrowed into the corners of their glass tanks. Breeds on that day’s menu ranged from albino (which, if you fall in love, you can also take home for $275) to the rare cinnamon pied ($643), but my friends and I couldn’t resist the classic salt and pepper. Our three critters arrived in shabby-chic boxes fashioned out of old license plates. The café’s lack of drinks turned out to be fine, because we soon discovered that it would probably be impossible to hold a hedgehog and a mug of tea at the same time.One was an adrenaline junkie who, after hissing and sticking its tongue out at my friend when she stretched out her hand, spent the rest of the time trying to leap off the counter. (We hastily closed the open second-story window as a safety precaution.) For an extra $4.50, we sprang for a tiny glass bowl containing four live, wriggling mealworms, which our hedgehogs downed with a charming snort. After his snack, the second hedgehog nested under his box’s paper towel liner and promptly went back to sleep. My hedgehog was the perfect definition of genki, which means cheerful and chipper in Japanese.