Pet store on Main Street, Cañon City. Dim in there. Is that how the animals like it? I went in, curious. A scarlet macaw eyed me from a big cage with gray metal bars and newspaper on the floor, unmoving but for the occasional scream. I couldn’t help noticing the cage was narrower than the bird’s wingspan — I’m sure the macaw notices too. In the reptile corner, a man from the store held out a spiny lizard in his hand while a young dad encouraged his son, “Go on, pet its head, gently.” They headed to the cash register with the lizard. I stepped into the nook. 3 pythons from different parts of the tropics lay coiled in the back corners of 3 separate tanks, willing themselves to disappear. Their eyes looked up and out, defensive. The rodent room cut a stark contrast: 15 mice to a 2 x 1-foot tank, plus who knows how many more burrowing in the shredded paper litter. Six on their back legs pawing the clear glass walls as if to climb out, all frantic except for one, dead. The dead mouse was jammed in a corner of the tank, up off its floor, between the communal water bottle and the clear acrylic wall.
I left as the next group of voyeurs filed in, filling my silence with chatter. Where was the macaw from? Where was the lizard going? Why was there a dead mouse with its face smushed up against the glass? You wouldn’t come to this store unless you liked animals, but how could you shop at this store if you like animals?