The Love of a Cobra

I discovered a new show on Netflix. Well, it's new to me. It's about people that have exotic, deadly, predator pets that eventually kill them. It's called Fatal Attraction. It's frustrating enough to watch these people with their pet tigers, leopards, and cobras as they devote their lives to caring for them. There are moments of almost disdain in my living room where things are yelled out like, "She has to see that the crocodile has no feelings!", or "That guy is just a food source! The giant monitor lizard is going to eat him!" And then the lizard eats him, and we are all justified in our foresight. There are psychologists on hand for us. Explaining what is going on, helping us through these times. One guy says that these people have a need or condition in which they project human emotions on these animals. Like the lady that was already scalped by her leopard and explained that the look on the leopard's face was saying "Man I've done it now..." She allotted remorse to the leopard as he ate her. And then here comes the psychologist with the fact that these people usually need to love the unlovable. They need to transform something that is so bad and so unworthy in order to prove or fix there own plight. This would mean that they too are worthy of love. Damn.

I have my own pet tiger. I have been pretending that it loves me. That it is capable of love and remorse and that when it plays with me, it is saying that I am special. I have decided that when it does little tricks for me that we have a connection. I am thinking that I am more than a food source. I am important to my tiger. That he won't kill me if I stop bringing food. All my loved ones are shaking their heads. They see that I am the food thing to this beautiful predator. I am just compliant prey. I don't have the good sense to make it interesting and run.  And if I can just love this dangerous tiger enough, then I am wonderful. Lovable. Worth it. My, my, my.

 I am done with this. I like my chocolate lab. She is literally made of love.