Why I Don't Want A Pet

After a calm morning yesterday of writing, meditation and general inner peace I got this message from my daughter:

"I need you to come and take Rolo to the vet, he's been sick three times since around 8am and there's blood in his vomit"

Rolo is her cat and currently her sole companion. So a deep breath and a throwing out of the window of the plans I'd had for the afternoon, I called the vet's and squeezed in an appointment and then put on my SuperDad outfit and flew (kinda) to Epsom. For months at a time my "kids" are self-sufficient, and I forget that this parenthood thing is a very long-term commitment.

I was worrying all the way that this was going to be the time he just didn't come back home with me and I was going to have to deal with a sad girl and probably some grave-digging in the back garden. But the hardest bit was getting him into the basket and then carrying 5kg of struggling cat to the vet's. Oh and easing my debit card out of my wallet and into the payment machine. Fortunately it was paid back promptly, but I also left her with a leaflet for the pet insurance she's been meaning to get since the last time...

This morning, I hear that he's fine and happily chowing down on the suggested poached chicken breast. He lives like a prince, of course.

But the impending death thing is just not worth it for me. I'd rather live without a beast if it means I don't have to bury one.