I am a serial pet-killer. It’s all accidental. I loved every creature I brought home, but our relationships always end in tears. The pet graveyard at my parents’ house is like Arlington.

I was at the animal shelter last week looking at puppies and kittens, wondering why my landlord won’t let me have a pet. I decided it’s because I’m a notorious pet-killer. If you don’t believe me, let’s take a tour of my furry (and finned) victims.

 

Case A: The cartwheeling hamster

Her name was Jenny, and I was the last person to hold her alive. Jenny belonged to my sister, Michelle, and as a 4-year old I helped Jenny with her “gymnastics,” or tossing Jenny in the air as she “did flips” for us. It was incredibly entertainment for a toddler. But we loved Jenny and never knew how she much she probably hated us.

One day I had the urge to take up rodent dentistry. Being the prodigy I was, I diagnosed her with a painful toothache. To examine her, I had to open her mouth by tilting her head back. Then she went limp and wouldn’t wake up. My mom quietly put Jenny in the cage and hours later told us she died of old age. Years later, she told me the truth: I accidentally broke Jenny’s neck. I’m still not over the shock of discovering I’m a pet-killer.

I’m so sorry, Jenny.

 

Case B: The killer, snuggly guinea pig

Teddy was the first pet I owned by myself. He was the sweetest guinea pig our family had ever seen, and only wanted to snuggle. How lucky that my brother Bill’s older guinea pig, Sarge was large, furry, maternal and loved to cuddle. Naturally, we let them share a cage.

I came home from school one day and found Teddy’s lifeless body next to Sarge. He suffocated under Sarge’s massive coat of fur, and all because I let them share a cage.

But really, Sarge put the “smother” in “mother.”

 

Case C: The mice and the eyedropper

After Teddy died, my parents decided a smaller animal would be more manageable, and we bought mice. Since one was black and the other was white, we named them Sugar and Spice. How original. The mice had little personality, but ran in circles very charmingly.

Sugar and Spice quickly became sick, like mice do if they outlive being snake food. My dad fed them medication daily through an eye dropper and I ran downstairs and checked their cage each morning for two weeks, hoping this would be the day Sugar and Spice recovered.

They never did. I’m sure it was my fault, maybe just for being disappointed two tiny mice would live forever.

 

Case D: Big, slimy nightmare fish

How do we scale back from mice? “I know,” my parents probably said. “Let’s buy her fish! Even Kathleen can’t screw this up!”

I walked downstairs on Christmas morning to find my name on a bright red tag taped to a large glass rectangle in the living room.

What. The Hell. (Sorry, Mom and Dad.) I like fish cooked on a plate with some cayenne pepper and lemon juice, not swimming in circles yards from where I eat.

I dreamed that night fish took over the living room. Big slimy fish with big slimy eyes. But my parents were excited, so I went along with it.

None survived. The water was wrong, or I fed them too much or not enough, because the weird things don’t tell you crap. I think a few even drowned. The tank eventually filled with algae, so we bought an algae eating fish. I am convinced he ate carcasses of many other fish that forever vanished under the plastic treasure chest.

Once he had eaten all the fish, we threw away the tank. My parents did not complain.

 

But I still think I can take care of a cat

Despite my track record, I would absolutely take a chance on a cat. My ideal cat is orange, squashy faced, excessively furry but never sheds. Maybe we’ll bake pie together.

I don’t mind living alone, but sometimes I wish something fuzzy would cuddle with me while I eat French Fries. Maybe I’ll make a yarn ball, buy some catnip or something. Maybe I’ll buy 10 cats, save every newspaper and take up knitting. Cats are sturdier than guinea pigs, and much cuter than fish. One day, my friends. One day.

In any case, I think it’s good to take care of another living thing, even if you end up killing it. (I’m so sorry, Jenny.)