I was looking at my little black and white tuxedo cat. He's only about 2 years old and I really love that kitty. But I was looking at him today just sitting there by the door, and I was reaching to pat him with all that pretty black and white fur, and I got jealous. I wanted to <Mod Edit, WildCherry: Inappropriate and cruel>. I was jealous of his preciousness and total oblivion. I wanted his happiness and ignorance, and I wanted to be spoiled like him. I wanted to be loved and pat and touched and hugged the way I wanted to hug him. He was so pretty and beautiful, I couldn't find a flaw. I wanted him to know me to know how he was loved, but he's just a cat. He knows only what cats need to know. He was so beautiful, I just wanted to <Mod Edit, WildCherry: Inappropriate and cruel>. Only for a few minutes. I just wanted to know what it's like for the kitty. Then sanity kicked in and I just rubbed that pretty ole' head and said "awww kitty kitty" and sang a tune from "The Fantasy" smiled. He just sat there. I don't want to hurt the thing. He's really my only little companion that makes me feel better. I thought back briefly about the other pets I've had. My first pet was a little puppy, according to my mother, but I don't remember because apparently I was only an infant. The first pet I remember having was a goldfish I had when I was about seven or so. My godsister and I were playing with it, and I wondered what it would be like to kill it. <Mod Edit, WildCherry: Inappropriate and cruel> I didn't care about pets anymore until I was in college. I think it was after freshman year that I returned home for that summer, so I was 19. I wanted a hamster. So my dad bought me a hamster, a little white one. It was a baby, no more than a few weeks old, and so small. So tiny, so precious. I raised it for about three months that summer before I went back to school, and that winter I came back, and it had grown some more. It was such a cute little thing. It had its own cage and I had bought it lots of toys and a wheel to run on. One day, I saw it crawl beneath the wheel and it was trapped. So I gently pulled him from beneath the wheel. Then, I don't know, maybe a few days later, I got an idea. I wanted to know what would happen if it was stuck under the wheel and the wheel was moving. So I put it in the cage, put it beneath the wheel, and started turning it and turning it and turning it some more, until the poor thing screamed, squealed really. I guess it hurt it. I took it out before I thought it could get hurt any more. I just wanted to see what would happen, not kill it. After that, it had problems walking. It seemed sickly and ill. Anyway, in its last days, I was so sad because I knew it was dying, and that I had done it. Yuuuugggguhhh I was depressed for months afterward. I bought another hamster, and that one starved to death. I went out of town, and wasn't able to get back to my apartment in time to care for it, so the poor thing starved to death, and died alone. When I was in bio lab in college, we had to dissect a fetal pig. Most people in the class seemed grossed out about it, but I was enthused. FUCK YES! We get to cut open a fucking pig! JEEEEEAAAAAAAYAAAAAHHHHH I was enthused. So I volunteer in my workgroup to do all the work because the others were vomiting and acting like children instead of biology students. Anyway, I was the only one still there cutting and slicing and dissecting for over a half hour after class was over and everyone else was gone, except for the instructor. I was there still fiddling around with the pig, and was curious about the inside of the heart, so I cut inside and squeezed around, and it was nothing really but a bunch of spongy, meaty tissue. I thought it was fascinating as hell. Sometimes, I think I have serious fucking problems that I may have been born with. Maybe it's just natural curiosity, though.