Thursday, May 5, 2011

Pet Mice

Tonight we went to the pet store to get some stuff to clean out Shelby's fish tank.  It was so gross, she didn't even want to sleep in the same room with it.   It had a visit from the algae monster one night...it was clean for months, then all of the sudden it was full of green slime that I am pretty sure ate one of the guppies.  (Nope, never found it.)
So some genius parent decided to buy his daughter a pet mouse while I was there.  We all stood around and watched the little mice play in an excercise wheel, flinging eachother around, falling all over the place while the pet store boy told us all how wonderful "Fancy Mice" are and how they make great pets.  They are very social, the only bite if they are terrified, they are very easy to take care of.  It was a shining moment for dear old dad when he told his daughter she was going to be the proud new owner of a "Fancy Mouse".  She made a great show of picking out her mouse, and naming it after our dog Rosco, much to Shelby's delight.
Somewhere along the line, in all of Shelby's begging and my arguing, she misunderstood me and thought I said she could have one.  I told her no, I never said that, and the deep, heart wrenching, clinging to me because her heart was so broken sobbing began.  This was heartbreak unlike any I have ever seen, without an ounce of selfishness or attitude...it was pure grief.  A bystander actually covered her mouth and looked like she was going to cry as well.
So...their names are Gabriella and Taylor Swift.  They hung out in their little carry home box as I assembled their stupid cage.  When I went to get them out of their box, Taylor Swift looked up at me, and launched herself from the box onto my boob.  I think I got as far as saying "Oh shhhi" and she launched herself again, straight up into my face, made eye contact, and did a superman move and somehow ended up on my shoulder. 
I was in the kitchen fixing Shelby a hot dog thinking "This isn't so bad, the cats and dog have absolutely no interest in them, they are tiny, the cage is tiny, and they are supposedly friendly.  And hey, they were only $5 a piece."  Then I heard the most horrifying scream come from the living room.  I ran out there to find Gabriella running across the coffee table and Shelby crying hysterically with blood running down her hand.  Apparently she tried to pick the little jerk up and it bit her.  She must have been "terrified".  So at that point I didn't want to touch it, so I brushed it off the table like a big crumb onto a DVD case and scooped it back into it's cage, where it hid in it's little house for a while.  Meanwhile, I cleaned out the fishtank and relocated it to my bedroom...(because yeah, THAT really goes with my decor).
What the hell have I done?  I am doing this kid absolutely no favors by giving her everything she wants.  If she would have had a temper tantrum instead of doubling over in giant sobs, she wouldn't be laying in bed watching her mice beat the crap out of eachother jockeying for position on their (thankfully silent) exercise wheel.  But she has everything she has ever wanted times 10.  It's not going to fix the fact that her daddy died, and that is my issue, not hers.  I'm turning her into a hoarder.  An animal hoarder, toy hoarder, and God only knows what else.
So next time you feel the need to drop $400 taking your kid to the zoo, just bring them over to my house instead.  It's free, and if you want the full effect complete with the smell, I will let your child sniff the jacket I wear to the stable.

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