Naturalists who want sentimentalists to wise up to the fact that lions and tigers and leopards are not house pets tend to make analogies to human psychiatry. Big cats are psychopaths, will kill you and think nothing of it, and it is old women divested of children who will rampage to see these creatures gunned down through a scope, but this anthropomorphic realism is as erroneous as the grafting of felines into our maternal drives as the non-human child, once removed: Mammals evolved to hunt are not psychopaths, even if the lion will groom you in affection at 9:02 AM and lacerate your jugular at 9:06 AM. Their brains are not configured like apes, but they are capable of attachment, and not as predictable as what wildlife footage teaches us, but I am giving up the pet children I've reared since I was in eighth grade.
I am on self-destruct through divestment, and it is all I can do not to give my notice to the office this morning. Contacted vet recommended by ailing Casse so long ago. I'm leaving, because I'm sick of idling train engines. Will I get very far? Not likely. Will I survive?
I do not know, but even technically releasing myself from captivity lightens me just enough to memoir the plenitude of joy I felt, a long time ago, giving spirit up to the divine, always in a bargain or negotiation, despite prohibitions against that. I blamed God, and if I was going to do that, it was best to relegate deity to the comic strip. I have to leave. I know it's worse in thousands of areas and I will probably wind up in a holding cell, infected by my own fecal matter, but I want the ability to make my own choices restored to me, and moving to Riverside was not a choice I made voluntarily. Diamond Park was a choice, a choice that imprinted me with toxic stress, but going from a dungeon to a jailer once removed is not living. Maybe the web will help, maybe it won't, but one way or another, I'm departing.
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