Someone killed an animal and put it in my fridge.
A fridge is not a morgue. A fridge is not a place for flesh and carcasses. A fridge is not for death.
A fridge is for life. Health. Things that grow and do not need to be killed. Courgettes and cucumbers. Broccoli and beetroot.
Imagine if a new superior race appeared and suddenly we were second-rate.
Would you like to be imprisoned and tortured, then slaughtered, purely for consumption and greed?
Would you like to be ignored whilst shouting for help because another species couldn’t comprehend your cries… couldn’t understand your utterances and pleas or consider them to be as important as their own? ‘Oh, it’s fine – they can’t think or feel like we can’.
How would you like your feelings, your routines, your habits, your relationships, your quirks and your life to pale into insignificance… purely because others’ cravings for your flesh were considered more important than your life?
How would you like to be chopped and finely cut, sliced and diced, grated and marinated, prodded and stuffed, just to satisfy others’ taste buds?
How would you like to be roughly stuffed and sprinkled with herbs, shoved in the oven for a few hours, then proudly taken out as a centrepiece of a Sunday roast?
How would you like to be drowned in gravy and lie there idly whilst people talk and laugh over you? How would you like bits of your remains to fly out of someone’s mouth because they talk incessantly whilst eating?
How would you like another to greedily shove you into their orifice and delightedly exclaim how you ‘just melt in the mouth’?
How would you like to be chucked in a bin and forgotten because half the table couldn’t finish you? Or for your old fleshy remains to be stored in discoloured Tupperware boxes in the back of someone’s fridge?
How would you like it?