I’ve seen a lot of strange behaviors in my short time on Earth. There was the fistfight in New Orleans between a young man and woman where they took turns punching each other in the face (a la The Flintstones boxing match), and then hugged. Or the night that a strip club in Huntsville, Alabama erupted into a giant brawl not once, but twice. I watched a crowd stampede to see Eminem up close. I even drank in proximity to Billy Dee Williams. I’ve witnessed all manner of public sexual act.
To some degree, I can understand all of that or at least decently rationalize it. Well, except the Billy Dee Williams part–how does a guy that cool just blend in?
But the one behavior that I can never rationalize is the fetishization of pets. Pet owners turn them into the children they never had or, even more disturbingly, they always wanted.
Don’t get me wrong. I like pets. As mentioned before, I keep several captives in my home for the War on Animals. I can’t stomach torture, so I use the methods employed by the precursors to the CIA during Dubya-Dubya-Two: establishing a rapport through games of chess, walks in the park and offering pornographic pictures in exchange for information.
But I certainly don’t think of them as people or, especially, as the children I never had (or paid child support for). Of course, I have reasons:
Pets don’t speak.
Why in the Wide World of Sports would anyone want their pets to speak? Pets eat the same food, do the same things and even take dumps in the same place at the same time everyday. What mind-blowingly interesting things would they have to say? C’mon, you know people like this, and they’re never the life of the party. Hell, women leave husbands like this because of the boring conversations.
And yet, pet owners always say the same damn thing about their pets, even silent ones like ant farms and goldfish: “You know he’d talk if he only knew how.”
What does a pet have to say for itself? “I like dog food!” “Throw the ball!” “Maybe I should have said DiMaggio?”
I consider it a blessing that pets don’t talk. I listen to people, who have nothing to say, talk all day. Ever listened to a kid talk about the latest episode of Pokemon or whatever animated toy commercial they’re watching these days? Now imagine your cat doing the same thing, only about some fly they watched all day.
Pets don’t do chores.
Dear God, of all the problems with pets, this is the biggest. Sure, you hear stories about dogs that fetch beers from the fridge, but what happens when his owner starts going to AA? That dog is now a slippery throw rug on the 12 Steps. (That’s a bad dog!)
There’s no age where a pet starts earning its keep. They never get old enough to mow the lawn, do the laundry, can the vegetables or de-turd the shrimp.
The most a pet can do is warn you when your house is burning down, but that’s not earning its keep. That’s expected behavior from any deadbeat you’re housing.
Pets can’t babysit your “other” kids.
Would you leave your infant at home with the cat? If you would, you deserve it when the kid grows up to become aloof, silently hating you, waiting for you to die so it can nibble on your flesh.
(OK, so maybe pets are sort of like children.)
Pets don’t have emotions.
You hear this one all the time: “She’s mad because I left her at home this weekend.” Or, “He’s always happy when he licks off the peanut butter.”
Pets don’t get mad. They either kill or let you live … until it’s the right time to kill you. They aren’t happy. They’re fulfilling today’s biological imperative, whether it is to eat, simulate mauling by playing or hump your favorite Barcalounger.
I hate to repeat this so often, but the comments we receive from indignant species traitors make it clear that I need to say it again: these are animals. We’re at war with them. We didn’t start it, but we’re going to finish it, by crikey. And one day, animals will add “not kill us” to their repertoire of tricks like “sit,” “beg” and “stay dead.”
On reading this list, I’m glad these folks don’t have kids. They don’t have the proper judgment to differentiate between a gerbil and a future bus driver, doctor or-dare I say it-President.
But not all pet owners like this are childless. I can only imagine the poor lives these hapless brats must live: incessant bowls of the same food everyday, micromanaged bathroom activities, being forced to wear sweaters that match their leashes, sharing an apartment with 400 other kids …. And yet there’s no show on Nickelodeon or Disney where the cops take them away from these parents, clean them up, and put them in foster homes.
Don’t be this kind of pet owner. And if you are, stop before I become a children’s programming producer.