It's Because I Taste So Damn Good!

Well, that title should bring a few pervs out of the woodwork, eh? You can never really have too many pervs, can you? As long as they're not leaving long-winded comments in some random language that I can't understand but that link to porn sites, I'm ok with them stopping by. Maybe they can teach me something I don't already know?

Anytasty ... the reason I've called you all here today is to talk about my apparently tasty qualities. It's really the only conclusion I can come to for the events of my life.

Since I was a young girl, I have loved animals. I've worked in pet stores, owned animals, and I've got my own pets. So, given that, why do they all think it's necessary to bite me?!

When I was around 10 or 11, I stopped to say hello to a horse. He gave me all the best "come hither" vibes and even batted his eyelashes. I had some sort of food on me and offered it to him in the hopes that he would love me more. He sure did! He took my whole bloody hand into his mouth and then bit me. On the middle finger. Maybe he was trying to teach me a lesson?

Not too many years later, we were living in Wales - the land of gazillions of sheep. As I was walking down the road, I came across two HUGE cats hissing and growling at each other. They were clearly vicious and demented and I was wary as I approached them.

I could see that the larger one was unimpressed with me. I was obviously getting too close to his prey. I had a destination in mind and being the lazy person that I have always been, I kept walking. The next thing I know, claws are embedded in my leg, I'm yelling and trying to shake it off. But it hung on and carried on hissing at its enemy.

I finally escaped and made my way home. As I walked in the door, I started to tell my mum what had happened. Maybe she could call the zoo and get them removed before they mauled some poor unsuspecting old woman. I pulled up my pant leg and was confronted by a beautiful set of puncture wounds and blood running down my leg. It's astounding I could even walk! It's a wonder that these animals aren't required to be tagged and wear signs. I'd hate for someone else to get savaged by ... a kitten. I'm so ashamed.

7 years later, my family moved to Auckland. I worked in a pet store in the mall. I spent my days helping people pick pet foods and save their fish. I encouraged mothers to buy goldfish and fathers to buy beer to cope with the whining. And I learned how to train ferrets so instead of being nippy little bastards, they became sweet little lovelies.

So, naturally, when a guy who looked like he belonged in the backwoods of Hickville, Kentucky with his Uncle Daddy, complete with overalls and mullet, came in looking for guidance in how to re-home his ferrets, I nearly jumped on him to hump his leg from here to kingdom come.

He agreed to let me have them and their cage. I was over the moon!

Now, remember, I knew a lot about ferrets, their care, and their natural instincts. All information that I somehow managed to leave in my brain, under my goddamn pillow the next morning when I went out to see my new friends. Friends who had previously received virtually no training or handling. Friends who had not yet had their breakfast.

I opened the cage and pulled one out for cuddles. As I held him at waist level and cooed at him, he suddenly decided that my face looked rather appetising and jumped!!

SONOFABITCH! OUCH!

Something you might not know about ferrets is that when they bite, their jaw locks. Sounds fantastic, right?!

As you can imagine, I started screaming my head off. My mum and step-dad came running. My sister, who was about 8 at the time, stood in the doorway screaming that I was going to die. The ferret hung off my face like a big fuzzy icicle.

My mother tried to pry its jaws apart. I kept screaming. My step-dad tried to wring its scrawny little neck until it passed out enough to pull it off. I screamed, "DON'T KILL IT!!". Finally they managed to get it off my face and I was taken to lay on the table of a very gorgeous docto while he flushed out my new set of puncture wounds so that I didn't get lock-jaw myself.

And then there was the Burmese cat that my mother had when we first moved to NZ. Lovely wee cat. No, that's not true. He was a complete psycho. He bit me so hard one time that I ended up with a spectacular bruise on my left boob. He was definitely the nastiest pussy I'd ever met.

I've been told that all these creatures are crazy but I prefer to tell myself that it's because I'm delicious.