My father, a carpenter, built rabbit cages and took them in from his boss, sometimes selling them as pets or giving them away when they had babies, but mainly he kept them as pets for us girls. He always thought we should have many pets growing up, and that we should be exposed to as many different kinds of animals as possible. Though we lived in the semi-suburbs, we even had a pet chick once (whom the neighbor’s cat unfortunately ate).
Actually, I don’t want to wail at people to stop questioning PETA from beneath a sheet alit by a flashlight from the comfort of my mother’s basement, with mascara dripping down my face, as is the customary way to ask people for something nicely. I want everyone to keep pressuring the company to stop using misogynistic campaigns that employ sexism, stereotyping, fat hatred, and a plethora of other abusive measures to help save animals. Saving animals is good; furthering the agenda to sexualize and marginalize women (and pretty much everybody else) is bad. PETA, this needs to stop.