Dear Pet Lady,
My lovely and talented friend, Shelley, dotes insanely on her sheltie, which she has named Sheltie Shelterton. It is to the point where she is alienating potential suitors and even existing relatives. How can I tell her to cool it on the pooch?
Worried in Walla Walla
Dear Walter,
Pets are our closest link to Nature-red-in-tooth-and-claw (unless we are rural and accustomed to gelding stallions, beheading chickens, and branding bawling cattle, which is a different story entirely). Thus, we must expect a certain amount of low-level pet gore, especially from our feline fur friends, who—like their leonine ancestors—love to kill, kill, kill. The Pet Lady recalls one particular house cat who fancied himself a tiger and slaughtered many a Capitol Hill rat or pigeon (the rodent’s avian equivalent). As for the disposal of each carcass, the Pet Lady’s method was to steel herself (as you must, cherie), obtain a shovel from the garage, and scoop it up. Now the Pet Lady is far from squeamish, but the sight of a poor bewhiskered Stuart Little head hanging by a tendon—or perhaps just the spine—off the end of the shovel would give her the vapors. But it is not fair to call upon your handsome neighbor to dispose of your pet’s prey, and being a lady is no excuse. Just think brave thoughts and have a nice nog afterward.
The Pet Lady
Dear Pet Lady,
Crawly, my pet tarantula, always gets a little down after Halloween. This year, his seasonal depression seems to be protracting. I tried putting him in the basement where it’s nice and creepy, but he still seems sad and strangely inert.
Sorrowful Spider
Dear Tarantella,
Gore, indeed. Gore, gore, gore. You, dear reader, might indeed think your small children would be traumatized by your indelicately named Fat Cat’s consuming Tweeties numbers One through Four. The Pet Lady would suggest, rather, that you cast this serial misfortune in the light of instruction. Explain to your offspring that this is what happens to people foolish enough to let the bird out while attending four successive Nader rallies. You might just let the Tweety series end here, rather than waiting for New Year’s Eve and another certain death, or sate the cat with a Cornish game hen on such occasions. Remember, a gory bird in hand is worth any number in the bush.
The Pet Lady
Pet just sitting there looking at you? E-mail thepetlady@seattleweekly.com or send a letter special delivery to: The Pet Lady, c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western, Ste. 300, Seattle, WA 98104.
