A rat always knows when he's in with weasels

Having rural roots my experiences and knowledge of domestic and feral creatures is extensive. Husbandry is as American as genocide and slavery. Folk hero Daniel Boone  - frontiersman, Indian fighter and sociopath - enjoyed digging wolf cubs out of their dens each spring and skinning them alive for sport. Serial killers Jeffery Dahmer and Ted Bundy had childhood histories of animal cruelty.
The myth of the bucolic family farm has been replaced with the realities of Agribusiness and huge factory farms. The milk and eggs, the beef and pork, or the chicken in the local shops all come from these corporate giants. I enjoy hearing marketing slogans such as "free range" and "organically grown". Happy and healthy. Minimising the slaughtering and butchering process eases the consumer's conscience.
Working on a kill-floor many years ago, I helped process two hundred hogs a day shipped in a tractor trailer from the Corn Belt. Old boars mostly; their use as breeding stock over. This fresh pork went to the City. The stench of feces, blood, and entrails filled our nostrils for 12 hours a day. Some workers drank, some used cannabis, some used both to de-sensitise from the unpleasantness of death that surrounded us. Violence was an everyday occurrence. Knife fights were common. The psychological strain of being around death everyday is not what modern human beings have been socialised into.
I have killed animals. I have killed to eat. Killed to buy drugs and alcohol. Killed to buy petrol for the car. I struggle with the guilt and shame I carry concerning my complicity in the fur trade. I attempt to block the memories of the clubbing to death of wild animals for their pelts. Blocking does no good. The images are here scarring my psyche. I never enjoyed killing any animal and I think that is what separates me from the aforementioned Boone's, Dahmer's, and Bundy's.
I filed an application at the local SPCA the other day. I am looking for a canine companion. The process involves a background check into my financial status, my residence appropriateness, and calling my cat's vet to find out if I bring her in regularly for check-ups. I was at the SPCA facility during lunch time. One of the workers was on her way out to pick up KFC takeaway.
"Bon appetit," I smiled to myself as I went out the door, "Enjoy those humanely raised and processed poultry sections".