bite

Been reading David Sedaris' latest book, Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk.  It's got me looking at animals in a new way, especially my animals.  Well, the ones I live with.  I don't claim to really own them.

Like with many aspects of our lives, we tend to make up what isn't explained to make ourselves feel better, make it all bearable.  "I'll meet my dearly departed loved ones on the other side when I die," for instance.  How about some a little less serious like, "My pets are always at the door when I come home.  They miss me and want to greet me."  I want to believe that.  Rather, my heart wants to believe that, but I know it's not true.  The quality of light outside probably signals my return home and the front door happens to be close to the kitchen, which is where their food is kept.  They approach me for pets because they like their heads rubbed.  They don't care about my day.

What's a bit much though is when one of them literally bites the hand that feeds them (not while it's feeding them, fortunately), and then minutes later yaks it up all over the carpet in a 12-inch by 3-inch stripe.  That just seems mean-spirited.