By the time I got home, it was seven in the evening, and my feet and back ached. I lived in a tiny studio apartment ten miles from my job at Pet Store Universe. While I loved animals, my lease didn’t allow for them, and the place was too small to take care of one, anyway. Instead, I had pet rocks.
The upside of this was my “pets” didn’t need to be fed, cleaned, trimmed or told to stop chewing my shoes—and they would never die. The only attention they ever needed was a new painted persona from time to time, typically miniature dog and cat motifs. Hey, it was a thing. I used them as stress release from the inane and crazy pet owners that hounded me—so to speak—regularly.
The downside was a lack of true companionship. Still, I got to see my furry babies, as I liked to think of them, at work
