Don’t tell my landlord, but I’ve got quite a menagerie in the apartment. Two cats and a handful of reptiles on indefinite loan from Sarah. There are two ball pythons—a male and female named Kyle and Beatrix respectively—and a leopard gecko named Trace. The gecko eats crickets, which other than the smell, is a diet that’s pretty easy to accommodate. The snakes both eat mice. Live mice. I’ve heard horror stories about warming frozen mice in mugs of warm water, bashing mice on the head for that fresh-kill flavor, and even force-feeding by sticking a frozen one on the end of Bic pen and shoving it down the snake’s throat. I guess, all things considered, I’m pretty lucky. All that Kyle and Beatrix require is for me to stop by Feeder’s Supply once a week, pick up a pair of adult feeder mice, and then drop one in each cage. It’s really not that traumatic, and most of the time I don’t feel too guilty. However, without fail, every single time I visit Feeder’s Supply, at least one person feels compelled to say something about the mice. It can’t be that unique of an experience because at least 1 out of every 8 times I visit the store, they’re out of mice. And I know not everyone buying them plans to keep them, name them, and love them forever and ever. The upc code rings up as “feeder mice” not “adorable pet mice that you will cherish always.”

Since I visit at least once a week, I’ve gotten to know the staff pretty well. Not their names or anything (that would be absurd!) but enough to know whether or not they’re going to give me a hard time about mercilessly putting to death sweet, defenseless rodents. They pretty much fall out onto a continuum of concern from an older blond woman who apologizes and looks deeply into the eyes of each one before she drops them into the plastic box, and a young guy who couldn’t give less of a shit.

The other shoppers have pretty interesting reactions as well. Some give me dirty looks like I’m the one that’s going to devour the mice head first, and some—mostly men—are wildly intrigued and bombard me with questions. They never get too creative and just once when they ask what I’m feeding, I want to respond with “hamster” or “llama” or something equally inappropriate. Honestly, I don’t think there’s ever been a single time that the trip has been totally without incident. I’m always impressed when retailers can ring up things like condoms, stool softeners, adult diapers, pregnancy tests, what-have-you, without the slightest reaction. And at places like ear-x-tacy, the cashiers are infamously impassive about your selections. No judgment whatsoever. This never happens at Feeder’s Supply. I’ve come to expect a fairly healthy dose of opinion with my purchase.