I went down to the basement to scoop out Jet's litter pan, and she followed me, presumably to maintain quality control. I looked at her and said, "Everybody loves you, but I'm the only one who scoops your shit." Yeah, I know, but let's not dwell on it. This is about human nature, not personal foibles.
In other scooping shit news, I recently decided that it would not make sense to buy my sister one of the usual birthday presents as she really doesn't have time for that stuff and does not need another knick knack, and, inspired by my son on Facebook, I set up a Fundraiser for her rabbit rescue and put a hundred bucks in to get it started.
Unbeknowst to me, just about simultaneously one of the rabbits nearest and dearest to her--who had been with her for seven years--had just died. When I looked at her Facebook page I saw this, and saw that 59 people had commented on her announcement of this bunny's death. 59 people.
I have to admit I immediately wondered how many of them were up to the shit scooping duties.
I went back to her page several times over the next few days. Facebook had posted the information about the fundraiser directly above the obituary notice. Would you like to guess how many of those 59 people donated money to her rescue?
I'll spare you the suspense. One. My son. (My daughter-in-law and one of my nieces have also contributed, by the way. And that's all so far.) The other 58 only had words to give. No scooping of the shit.
Which made me think. You know, if every one of those 58 had given her fifteen bucks each, she would have hit the goal of $1,000 that I naively set for her. Fifteen bucks isn't nothing to me, as I come from pretty modest means and have stuck close to that standard in my dotage, but still . . . I'd spend more than that if I took my kids to the movies, even at matinee prices, and it wouldn't be a big fucking deal, you know?
But that's human nature, isn't it? Hero of Alexandria didn't invent the steam engine, he just externalized it.
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