Life in a glass menagerie is hard. There you are, being a fish, swimming around being all fishy and gold, when one day you find yourself nose down, shaking your tail fin, contemplating your fishtality. Or not. Your brain is the size of a pebble. You probably can’t see it coming. You may not be staring at it, but death is staring at you, my friend. I have a solution to this problem. Be a fake pet. A robot pet. You can’t die, and nobody will cry. And I won’t have to keep fixing all of the horrible stupid nightmarish crap that keeps happening with sneezing rabbits, upside down fish, hind-leg hairless cats and flea-allergic dogs that keep NEEDING things. Like children. Oh. Did I say that last bit out loud? Sorry. Temporary digression. But love. Pet love. Aww.
So, Goldie died. Poor, poor little Goldie.
Now normally, I would have thought nothing of it and flushed Goldie, sending her back to Nemo and friends in the *sea, but after the recent passing of our beloved 21-year old Kobi-cat, there were floods of tears when little A realised Goldie was on her deathbed. Sadness reigned, mitigated only by the stuffing of Easter eggs into her sad little pie-hole. Little L processed her emotions more artistically, with a poem that said so little, and yet so much.
I realised a ceremony was in order, to help with the processing (and to buy me some time for tank cleaning and new fish purchasing). Goldie was buried on a sunny autumn day in a perfect Goldie-sized coffin in the garden, under a blanket of crayon rainbows. Words were said, like ‘Goldie was a good fish. She was a very good swimmer. She can swim in heaven now with Kobi.’ I let go the part where cats don’t like swimming with fish, because who knows? Maybe they LOVE swimming in heaven. And I didn’t take photos, because hello? Respect for the dead?
Now we have Pinkie. Little A is satisfied that Blackie isn’t sad anymore. Little L, however, wants a fish that ‘swims by itself’. I pointed to the tank, SPEECHLESS. ‘No, I mean, one of those pretend ones that go in water and swim around.’
When I recovered I realised she’s on to something. (Block your ears Herbie). I only wish shed been struck by her lightning bolt of petspiration the day BEFORE I’d purchased Pinky. I guess it’s not a hugely long-term commitment we’ve made though. You know tank fish. They’re here for a good time, not a long time.
Lulu agrees with Little L’s epiphanic statement on the benefits of robopets. (Until she annoys me, and then I switch her off, with the switch under her fluffy little white cat’s bum. At this point she doesn’t need to agree nor disagree. In fact, she can even be sat on without objection. She needs no food, no water (in fact… sparks may fly), but only a gentle stroking to keep her mewling and purring contentedly.
All the ponies in pony castle agree with with this notion of future Robopet ownership, pursuing a lively debate on the topic as baby and baby daddy prepare their evening meal like good slaves in the kitchen below. We all know they get up to no good once we’ve gone to bed, putting on their Prince music and dancing like it’s 1999. Not all ponies can rock a tiara and high hair plait like that.
Little L’s ‘my little pet pony’ on the iPod does NOT agree with me because she keeps killing it, regularly. It’s fundamentally flawed though. What kind of fake pet needs food?
I’m kind of on the fence here. You know how I feel about my dog Herbie. But the rest? If they ran on batteries (ooooh or photovoltaic cells – environmentally friendly AND not annoying FTW! ) I think I’d be pretty happy. So, I guess robo-menagerie it is.
What do you think is the way of the future for pets? Real or fake? Do you want to switch your pets (or children) off?
*sewage treatment plant