The Three Little Pets — A Long Con Sponsored by Chewy
Seventy percent of American households, which is about ninety million families, have at least one pet. In my house we have three. But let me explain one thing. This is not a rescue. This is a long con. Just take a look at my vet and Chewy bills.
Don’t get me wrong I love my animals, but you know how it is with pets. It’s like that movie Down and Out in Beverly Hills: One day they’re homeless and the next day their simple good nature is the cure to everyone’s problems.
I always thought I had a dog, a cat, and a tortoise, but over time and under closer examination my gut feelings have been confirmed to be true, that they are in fact Three Little Pigs with really good disguises.
First came the tortoise. Our constant reminder that slow and steady wins the race. Now because he’s a Russian Tortoise I wanted to name him something cool like Dostoevsky or Chekhov or even Cecil after the Turtle from the Looney Tunes, but my wife who authorized the “rescue” of the Tortoise from Dinky’s Reptile Shop allowed my then four year old son to name him and so he goes by Speedy. At eleven years old he’s the oldest of our pets (in human years) and he will live the longest on a steady diet of lettuce, water, and a red artificial sunlight that makes the downstairs living room look like the red light district in Amsterdam.
The dog came next. Petfinder told me he was a lab mix but there’s no such thing as a lab mix. That’s just how you can get around telling insurance companies that you have a pitbull. He’s now the same age as me in dog years and we named him after our favorite baseball player, Mookie, but unfortunately he’s only part Pit Bull so although he’s super loyal and certainly ready to die for me if I should ever be attacked by an Amazon Driver, if he hears the water running and anyone mentions the word, “Tubby,” he goes limp like my old college roommate would when the bouncers came to kick him out of the bar for being too loud.
After all these years I still haven’t figured out where Mookie’s beef with the vacuum cleaner started, though I was able to convince him that squirrels do not taste like cheeseburgers. The poor dog, every time it rains or snows or is freezing cold I look out the window and there are crazy people walking their dogs dressed up like the guy on the cover of the box of Fish Sticks and I look down at him and say, “There’s some dogs that go for walks in the rain and there’s some dogs that get bacon once a week. You made your choice a long time ago. Now go lay down.”
Only a year after getting the dog an old buddy from college drunkenly misled me into adopting the lone male brown and tan tiger striped kitten from a litter his cat had with another cat who to this day remains an unknown absentee father. True to his name and colors, Indiana, is constantly exploring all around the house and the yard and even finding a way onto almost everyone in the neighborhood’s roof at one time or another.
So I thought my Latin wife was crazy about me when I used to have to work late, but the dog is so jealous when I show the cat any affection that he’s worse than Halle Berry. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to burn down the cat’s litter box yet.
See while the dog is like a toddler always seeking praise and affection, the cat could give an F. He doesn’t want affection. He isn’t interested in learning. He’s more like a selfish teenager. Which is probably why he’s always following me into the garage when I go to smoke pot.
Fundamental differences between the dog and the cat. For example: The dog cries if you don’t let sleep in the bedroom, but the cat only cries if I don’t let it out in the wee hours of the morning to begin its day with murder. The dog laps his bowl around the kitchen until it’s cleaner than a Covid lab site while the cat only eats part of his food before licking his paws and looking at you as if to say it could have been better.
At least the dog and the cat earn their dinner whereas the tortoise does absolutely nothing to deserve the heated ecotarium and AndyBoy lettuce buffet he has going on all night. For example, the dog is locked in twenty four hours a day, three sixty five, literally barking at anything that crosses the property line which he knows even better than the surveyors. Not to be outdone, we haven’t seen a living chipmunk or mouse since we got the cat, and now that he’s moved on to the local bunny population my front lawn has never looked better. But the tortoise doesn’t do anything. It just sits there eating, pooping, and creating additional expenses like my step son.
Pets are like kids. You’re happy to see them when you first get home, but then they start crying, smelling bad, and costing you all your money until one day they do or say something that makes your heart swell and it all totally worthwhile. Or they rescue you from a fire or a mountain lion attack. Or just bark at the neighbor that you secretly hate and fall asleep on your chest or at your feet at night. Even the tortoise. So I’m back to shelling it out.
