When I was young, I used to look at people who loved their pets as a bit weird.
Maybe ‘love their pets’ isn’t right … I mean overlove them.
Buying them presents.
Signing their name in birthday/Christmas cards.
Kissing them goodnight before you went to bed.
Maybe part of this is because the only pet I had as a kid was a goldfish.
There was a moment I almost – emphasis on almost – managed to talk my parents into getting me a doberman, but it fell short.
So my relationship with animals at home was severely limited.
Then I got Rosie.
For a street cat from Singapore, she struck gold.
She’s lived around the World. She’s been given treats and toys to her hearts content. She’s even had special cat houses and nooks built for her personal pleasure.
Hell, I have even done freelance jobs to ensure she could be flown inside the cabin of a plane rather than in cargo!
And what have I got in return?
Complaints. Loud meows. And a general feeling she’s always disappointed with the people who saved her.
But despite that, I love her.
I love her with all my heart.
In some respects, I regard her as my first child … demonstrated by the fact that when Otis was born, I went to great lengths to ensure Rosie still felt a valid member of the family.
If I heard someone say that prior to having a pet of my own, I admit I would have either wanted to smash them in the face or call an ambulance.
But it gets worse.
Oh yes … the man who wrote only a few sentences ago, that he was suspicious of people who ‘overloved’ their pet is about to admit being peak ‘pet overloverer’.
You thought it was bad when I spent a shitload of cash for a cuddly toy that was made to look like Rosie didn’t you?
And you’d be right to think that.
So I daren’t imagine what you will think when you learn that I paid an equal amount of stupid cash on this …
If that wasn’t bad enough, I really, really like it.
Alright … alright … I’ll let you have the first punch for free.