Homeostasis

I've been combing the internet for a twelve-step group. Pet Hoarders Anonymous, where are you? I'm all ready for the first step: admitting that I am powerless over my addiction, and that my life has become unmanageable. I achieved clarity on that point about 48 hours after taking a ferret into our home last week, bringing the grand total to three cats, one dog, one hamster, two fish and a ferret. In about 1100 square feet.

Luckily for myself, my sanity, and my marriage, I came to my senses and found a new new home for the weasel. Now I'm looking for help.

Why do I do it? I wait until our home is in balance and all the pets and people are in harmony. Then, before I know it, I'm back out on the street. Okay, the virtual street. Cruising Craigslist Pets is like crack for me, people. I tell myself I'm just going to check out the free section or maybe see if there's anything new posted on Best-of-Craigslist. But then there it is, winking seductively at me from the upper-left-hand corner of my screen. Pets! I click, and I'm lost.

The drive home from the adoption scene is the best part. The endorphine rush is awesome. I murmur soothing "it's okays" to the pet in the back seat while I call every one I know to announce the new arrival. (Except Tami. Tami knows I'm a sick puppy and she'll tell me so.)

But 24 hours after using--er, adopting--I'm overwhelmed by shame and nausea. The pets are pissed, the husband is grumbling, and my self-worth has plummeted. I've upset the peace in our home again.

Not this time. I'm breaking the cycle. With or without the Steps, which is probably for the best. All that Higher Power shit sticks in my craw anyway.