| Who, me? |
When I reach the checkout counter at the pet store, they usually ask would I like to donate a few dollars to rescue animals? This makes me want to ask, "Would you like to know how many times today I already rescued my cat--from herself?"
A typical morning goes something like this: Darling kitty tries to swallow a crinkly cough drop wrapper, but at the last possible second I pull the slimey thing from her gullet. Then, a freak desire to dash into the garage and mew at me from under my car drives her to race through the gap of the closing kitchen door, which bounces off her ribcage, neck, or head. A beautiful anthurium bouquet arrives in the mail, but must be promptly folded into a terrarium so that kitty can't poison herself by eating it. Cleaning agents are immediately rinsed out or off to prevent death when kitty licks the tub/drinks out of the toilet/insert gross behavior here. Why is there a panoply of couch cushions on top of the bookcase? Why, to prevent kitty from scaling the bookcase and faceplanting (again) off the top. Bedtime, too, involves precautions: solitary confinement in the bathroom so she won't try to disembowel her brother in the wee hours. Again.
Rescue more pets? I have a full-time job keeping one furball alive.