I Bought a Zoo

Well I may have misrepresented myself when I said I bought a zoo, because I didn't sort of do that at all.  But I did buy a zoo pen, because a zoo pen is mightier than a zoo sword.  And I'm a writer, not a fighter.  Please keep reading - I know it doesn't look promising right now, but I assure you that this post might possibly improve.  No guarantees though.

Canberrans! And other people who might randomly come to Canberra for reasons I cannot fathom!  Make hay and raw meat while the sun shines and get your collective bottoms to the National Zoo and Aquarium to take part in their Zooventure Experience.

Why? Because how often do you get to willingly give licence to a white lion to completely scare your pants off and stare you down like the contemptible, collectible human trophy that you are, and where you can have your boa constricted by a cute little reptilian creature called Betty? Go do it. Do it right now. Or maybe tomorrow, during the day, when the zoo is actually open.  Probably best.

Speaking of nighttime at the zoo, it really is a spooky, enlightening, trippy little experience. The Zooventure affair finished after nightfall, and all the animals were engaged, excitable, and roaring or *insert random, intriguing, scary wild animal sound* their little lungs out. Carry on a treat, they did, for some inexplicable animal kingdom reason.  Just because they can, I imagine. 

According to the zoo's website, the Zooventure is a 2 hour behind the scenes guided tour that offers participants the opportunity to feed a variety of amazing animals, and experience a bounty of rare and close-up encounters. Yes, I quite concur, Zoo.

I am a massive animal lover and a massively big lover of big cats. I'm actually quite average in size, but my love for animals is somewhat immense, and far surpasses any concern I may show on the odd occasion for your run-of-the-mill members of the human race.

Over the two hour experience you get to feed the white lions, a Bengal tiger, otters, a Big Friggin' Bear, giraffes, antelopes, cougars, and a boa constrictor called Betty, who gracefully wraps herself around your chest in a fairly tightly-knit fashion.  Maybe she's just an immensely big human lover.  She was very beautiful, and surprisingly comforting, although my picture seems to tell a different story.

One lad was asked by our guide to make eye contact with one of the white lions (a boy lion, a very dominant boy lion) while holding empty tongs - sans raw meat - to demonstrate how Mr Crankypants likes to assert his dominance over everything and everyone.

The lion found this empty gesture fairly annoying and stamped his basketball-sized paw while barely subduing a roar which sounded something like this; "screw you humans with your twisted little food games. Don't toy with me; don't you know I am a goddamn lion." 

The poor kid, along with the rest of us, nearly peed his pants, and then everyone spent the next five minutes trying not to make eye contact with His Majesty, who was justifiably cranky, but very pretty. But I don't think they are ever that congenial.

I know that some people whinge about zoos and cages and captivity and et cetera, but it seems to me that man, man and more man (I'm looking at you Africa and most of Asia in utter disgust) is killing off all the scary, dangerous, cool animals, so it appears captivity is the safest and wisest place for these beautiful endangered creatures. 

Some of the stories I heard today of how animals suffer in the wild, and in captivity, in these countries at the hands of man make me sick to the stomach.  After the Zooventure, I know the animals in Canberra are completely pampered, spoilt rotten and really don't care to eat meat that has dropped into a spot of dirt, so all is well for these lucky ones.

The Queanbeyan peace accord

So, I'm back in Queanbeyan territory, where the men have mild mental retardation and the women are all related.  Literally, just one big, happy family.  I first moved to struggle town back in 2005 - a move inspired by the wildly successful advertising campaign  - "city benefits, country living". In reality, it's more like "welfare benefits, deadshits live here".  I moved out of Queanbeyan two years ago when the realtor sold the house I was renting without asking me if I wanted to buy.

LJ Hooker Queanbeyan - you're the best.  No, you are; you're the best at screwing your tenants over.  Nobody does it better.  And now I am back here for two weeks housesitting, in the house I used to live in.  Yes, that's unusual, but the house is next door to my sister's, so it's not that weird.  And the new owner is lovely, so it's all good.

Back in the complex, and it doesn't feel like I ever lived here previously; it feels like a completely different space, which is a little odd really.  Although, I do keep doing things subconsiously that I used to do - like reaching for a towel on a hook that doesn't exist anymore.  The furniture is different, and nothing feels the same, which is good I suppose, because I was sad to move on.

I am here looking after a neurotic cat called Cat, more formally known as Neurosis, but thankfully she answers to Cat, as it would be awkward yelling "Neurosis!" into the night.  She is a rescue cat; ie. suffering from a range of psychological disorders, and she is rather disgusted that I am in her space.  Cat and I agreed on certain things at first - like I was to leave the room when she sauntered through, and I was not to make eye contact with her.  EVER.  However, I have been here for five days and she is coming around to me, bless her little white sock paws.  And she really is so thoughtful.  I checked my diary the other day and she had added a new entry - "clean my litter box".  So very thoughtful.

There is a stray cat called Dusty that comes around for food.  He is a gorgeous little cat, and I'm told he has a home, but I believe he has the worst owners in the world, because Dusty sleeps outside this house, eats outside this house, and probably shits outside this house.  I have now de-wormed him, so maybe the poor little bugger won't be so hungry all the time.  

This is Daisy.
Her identity is protected.

And my sister has two cats - Daisy and Meg - so relations seem to be a little frosty here in Catland.  To be honest, things are less frosty in the Middle East when it comes to keeping the peace.  Cats really need to learn to get over things and stop being so psychotic and obsessive.  Muslim extremists should also take heed: get over your clan shit and stop ruining the world for everyone else.  And stop hijacking our media to garner support for your insane ideologies.  Our media is reserved for Paris Hilton and the Australian Cricket Team.   

This afternoon, when three of the cats were staring each other down, I thought it was such a beautiful day for the beginnings of a new peace road map for the complex.  So I started to go all Ban Ki-moon on them, but relations soured when Daisy decided to scrap her cease-fire and started hissing at everyone else.  You only need one Gaddafi to ruin everything.  So then I went all-Obama on them, and simply denounced the violence and walked back into my nice, cushy, ivory tower oval office where I didn't need to deal with all the bad things in the world.