I'm not a soulless animal hater.
Really. I'n not.
I used to have
Zachary used to tell random strangers that we traded our cat for his baby brother, and this was not altogether incorrect.
As the kids have gotten older, talk of a pet has come up a few times, but truth be told, I really, really don't want anything else that a) needs my attention and b) that I have to take care of.
Selfish? Sure. Keeps me sane? Absolutely.
But then we accidentally got some fish.
And I thought that once they (FINALLY) died, I would be done with them.
But oh, no.
R has replaced and replaced and replaced them with amazing speed, and at this point we have managed to keep some (ok, one) alive for about a year.
Then a couple months ago, he started mumbling vague things like "bigger tank" and "easier to maintain" and then BLAM! suddenly my one little glass bowl with two free goldfish has become a 20 gallon tank with heaters and chemicals and carbon filters and decorative driftwood and a whole school of fish.
Now a favorite Sunday afternoon activity for R and the boys is a trip to the pet store, where interesting fish and fish-ish specimens are purchased.
It makes me vaguely uncomfortable and twitchy every time they leave the house, pet store bound.
"Nothing with fur!" I yell as they are getting into the car. "And nothing with legs!" "And nothing that can't live in the current fish tank!" "And nothing with scales!" "And nothing that bites!" "And nothing creepy looking!"
I frantically go through the list in my head, trying to cover all my bases.
But I feel certain that at some point in the not too distant future, a loophole will be found.
This is a losing battle that I'm fighting.
But I'm not going to give up.
Not yet, anyway.