My father wasn’t particularly keen on pets.  In fact, he tended to kill ours in a rather brutal fashion.  I talked in a recent post about some of that, so I won’t repeat it here.   My current housemates, having more than a bit of a connection with the shady aspects my father was involved in, are also not so keen on pets.  Last week, their actions led to my having to have a small kitten euthanised.  It was truly horrible.

Anyway, last night I saw two lady birds (termed ‘lady bugs’ in American English) flitting about.  These have been in my bedroom since this past summer, and for whatever reason, I’ve enjoyed their company.  Even if it’s simply a plant, I’m comforted by having another living thing in my room.  I chuckled at the thought that my housemates wouldn’t think of these as pets, and would therefore not bother with killing them.  This morning, I found one of them dead in my window.

I’m really quite tired of this sort of irony.


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