Finding Freedom

On Thursday, when I woke up, I found a broken cage by my bedside.

I thought it was a dream, or perhaps, a nightmare, depending on how you look at it. I cried out loud, with sorrow that my pet whom I had nurtured for so long would leave me alone and with anger at their abandonment, like so many others before. I walked out of my bedroom to see my pet desperately trying to break the window by punching it. I walked over to him and gently rubbed his back while he started shaking like a leaf, clearly terrified to know I had discovered his plan of escape.

He looked at me with his cute puppy eyes and pink rosy lips. I hugged him, letting him know that he was forgiven but the bruising grip on his back reminded him that his plight would not be forgotten. He started wailing then, crying like the child he once was when I took him from the streets. I had thought that having a young pet would aid me in invoking feelings of loyalty and adoration.

Unfortunately, the disease of disloyalty had struck him as well and I knew what needed to be done. It is Sunday now and I am currently eating a roast. I felt bad as I always do when I have to let go of my pets but at least they get to be more useful in death than in life. A peculiar thing happened when I was cutting open the meat to prepare for the roast though. It seemed almost serene while I cut open its jugular.

I knew then that no matter how much love you give, they will always love their freedom more. Even if the only freedom they can find is in death.