Richie totally reminded me of my previously terrible record with animals. My rabbit being eaten by an owl doesn't even come in first place in my little shop of horrors believe it or not. Disclaimer all of this took place before the age of 15, so don't judge me too harshly. Okay so here's my confession. When I was 11 I didn't latch my hamster cage properly and my little hammie got out. Unfortunately, this was the same week that our heater vents had been taken off to be polished. This being winter the heat was on full blast. There was literally black puff balls blowing around the house. I incinerated my first pet. Let's move on, shall we? There was the parakeet, who I one day, after watching some inane Sunday morning cartoon, decided needed to be free. I took my ol' Petey out of the cage and threw him up into the air rather dramatically, whispering gently "fly, fly, fly!" Sad to say my 12 year old brain didn't understand the concept of low ceilings and velocity when thrusting a 8 oz bird at a speed of 30 miles into a 6 foot clearing. Petey hit the ceiling and was out like a light for a good 15 minutes. The next morning he was dead. I had a pet rat once too, to round off my small animal experience. I was playing with the rat on my bed and then forgot about him. The next morning, it's stiff corpse lay smashed beneath my right side. I had a cat for about 15 minutes. Literally, a friend dropped her off to me and the second she drove out of my driveway the little kitty jumped out of my arms, never to be seen again. Eh I don't really like cats that much anyway. But the shitty part was like this kitten was the spawn of my friends beloved pets and she would ask for updates, and even pictures. So sometimes I would take pictures of random ass cats that looked close enough. Sometimes she would be like, oh I don't remember that white patch. I went with this charade for 2 years. I'm sick I know, and possibly as as child, had a predispositoin to become some type of serial killer.
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