I’m glad I’m not a mouse used for research. I have no desire to be put in small plexiglass containers to see how I react to stress or pumped with drugs to see if I will develop cancer. I don’t want to find out if I can regrow a heart or limb after injecting fetal liver cells.
I don’t want the life of a mouse. The idea of those mazes really freaks me out. I couldn’t spend my days going through mazes–I get dizzy walking through shopping malls. How about spinning around and around on those little wheels? No wonder they only live to be around three years of age.
What about the life of a wild rat? Scrounging around in sewers looking for food–getting small parts in movies set in Europe during the renaissance period. No, I’d rather fight traffic to see how I react to stress and eat ice cream to see if I develop cancer. I’d rather not be used for testing, they can do that with my body after I’m gone. I’ll take a small part in a renaissance movie; however, as long as I don’t have to crawl through sewers.