From my brother’s perspective, things are spiraling out of control with me. He told me the other day “it’s crossing the line when you pick up someone else’s dog”. I very much beg to differ. If the dog is giving me that sign of ‘hold me’ I am bringing it into my arms and raising it above my head like Simba in the Lion King. You may even hear me quietly humming “Can you feel the love tonight.” And by quietly I mean I’m belting it out in the middle of the street.
Then, while cruising around East Village, we walked by a “cat shelter” type thing. It looked more like a jungle gym for cats and I got really excited that maybe they served tea while the cats gavotte around you. When I asked what scones were on the menu today the volunteer just looked at me funny and said “no, we don’t not serve food here, this is a cat shelter.” Though I was disappointed I wouldn’t get to enjoy some Earl Grey, I still enjoyed this haven for rescued cats who can stay here as long as like until they find a home. In the mean time, anyone who wants can come visit and play with them, and hopefully fall in love enough to take them home.
I also climbed into a dog park I saw the other day even though the sign clearly said “no dog, no entry.” What a dumb rule. I laughed in the face of that sign, told it to go to hell and jumped right in to play with a three-legged pug.
I thought maybe I going a little puppy-nuts, until I saw a guy react the same way as I do to a large dog the other day. While I watched him bend down, attack the dog with kisses and tell it how cute he was, I wondered if he was mentally ill. This was my chance to prove to my brother that I was doing it right. But just as I was about to talk to him to verify this, the light changed and he took off in a different direction. I going to take a guess that there were no inconsistences or anything missing in his brain, he was completely sane, and I can continue my not-insane, completely within the line, love of all animals.
Now where is the closest sloth shelter in the city?