It was about a year after my first experience at the glory hole that I learned that I was wrong. Or, I guess that is the wrong way to put it. I didn't know at the time that my carefully constructed life was about to collapse (or to rise again from the ashes) but that's what was about to happen.

It was a Wednesday I recall. It had been nearly three weeks since the last time I'd been to the pet shop. I had been busy with work and, furthermore, had actually been in a relatively good mood. So I hadn't felt the need to go. But that Wednesday, it...