For Sale: All Cameron pets, including two rabbits - - oops, make that six rabbits. These rabbits consume several pounds of pellets a week in order to produce several pounds of different pellets a week. The bunnies came to live with me because at the end of the school year my son's science class had to give away its inventory of animals and, as he explained it, it was them or the guppies. "You can't teach guppies any tricks, Dad," he advised seriously. I'm not sure what tricks he's taught the rabbits unless it is peeing out of the cage.
With the rabbits comes a stupid dog. The dog often spends hours in front of the bunny cage, barking with an unpleasant edge of hysteria in its voice. Initially the rabbits were very exercised over this and put their pellet production into overdrive every time it happened, but now they just stare at my canine, amazed that there is anything dumber on the planet than a rabbit.
The dog believes it is starving and blames me for this. At every meal I eat, it sits alertly at my side, tracking the movement of every bite from my plate to my mouth with frantic eyes. When I glance at her, she presents me with a "you're not sharing? I'd give up my life for you!" expression. This is complete nonsense; the dog won't even give up her NAP for me.
The dog's dinner consists of what appears to be compressed cardboard pellets, the ingredients listed on the bag making frequent use of the words "crude" and "by-products." As in: Crude Fiber: 25%; Crude Animal By-Products: 30%; Crude Recycled Machine Parts By-Products: 15%. When I serve this inedible stuff to my canine, she swallows it so forcefully you can almost see it slamming into her intestines.
When the dog is not barking at the rabbits, it is sitting at the window, barking at the neighbors. "If it weren't for this glass separating us," she seems to be snarling, "I'd tear you to pieces."
I will sell the dog to anyone who will also take the cat - - not because the two of them are inseparable, but because I know how much this would irritate the cat, who regards the canine as a waste of fur. The cat holds the same opinion of me.
When I serve the cat's dinner, I get a look in return which clearly communicates, "What? Lobster again? I had this last week! You're going to be in big trouble when your wife finds out about THIS!" To enforce her point, the feline will spend the rest of the day walking around the room with her nose in the air, pretending I don't exist. If I don't look appropriately hurt by this lack of attention, she curls into a sullen ball in the corner.
The cat was my low-tech answer to the family of mice which discovered that our dryer vent led to a wonderful world of fluffy warm clothes to sleep in. The first time she hunted down one of the little rodents she proudly brought the squirming thing back to our bed, which resulted in a fair amount of screaming and hysterical raving. My wife was unhappy as well.
Take the cat and I'll throw in my son's gerbil, who is the hardest-working animal on the planet. For two years it has been attempting to dig its way out of its cage, its little paws a blur. The cat hopes it succeeds soon. I don't really have anything against this tiny rodent, except that its ambition makes me feel completely worthless. At any given moment it has half a dozen gerbil projects going, all of which involve chewing up cardboard boxes or trying to sweat off a few grams of fat on the exercise wheel. The gerbil feeds on pellets manufactured out of the only stuff in the world that my dog won't eat.
Supposedly, I don't own any of these animals. I didn't buy them, and each was named by another member of the family. But ultimately, I'm the one who takes care of them, who cleans up cages and cat boxes and messes in the yard, which is why I feel I can legitimately sell them.
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