Many years ago my grandmother, in a fit of dementia, mailed me an alligator from Florida. All the rage that year. Not surprisingly it arrived dead. I cried. My mother did not have the good sense to arrange a little alligator funeral, after which I'd have forgotten about the whole thing. No no. She went out and bought me another one.
Yes, they're sorta cute when they're little. But they grow. Allie, as he was called, lived in a laundry tub in the basement, and didn't seem to like it all that much. He ate quite a lot of hamburger and snapped his jaws whenever anyone approached. Not....affectionate. When he was about 3 1/2 feet long my mother, having realized her mistake, called the Zoo. They sent two handlers, with hooks and gloves, to take him away. I'm sure he was much happier and better natured once free of the laundry tub. |
