(I volunteer at a cat rescue shelter. Our manager sends an email around, warning us of a lady who has been dropping by every day, asking about discounts on the price of adopting cats. [We charge $100 for vaccinations, grooming, and a basic medical checkup, to ensure the cats are as healthy as can be]. Lo and behold, this woman [who looks to be in her mid 60s] indeed drops by during my shift and tries the same spiel, claiming she deserves to pay less for adopting our kitties.)

Woman: “These are MY cats! Well, they’re clones of them at least!”

Me: “I… uh… clones?”

Woman: “Don’t look at me like that! I know how this works! You pay the vets around the state to send you blood samples and DNA from the felines they treat, and then you grow clones in the back there!”

(She points at the door to our onsite vet.)

Woman: “You’ve got, what, six or seven tanks back there? Enough to keep these cages full?”

Me: “Ma’am… I… I can assure you, these cats are rescues! They were sent to us, not grown here!”

Woman: “Yeah, right, look at this one!” *She gestures to a cute calico that’s staring at her from its basking hammock on the window.* “That’s clearly a clone of my precious Bertie! It’s got the same coat color, the same eyes…”

(She then proceeds to stab her finger into the poor cat’s belly. As expected, the cat doesn’t like this, and swats at her.)

Woman: “Even the same foul temperament! You clearly just took a sample of Bertie’s blood from when I took him to [nearby vet] and made a copy of him!”

Me: *trying very hard not to laugh* “Ma’am… that’s… I promise you, that’s not the case. Many cats have similar coats, eyes, and other attributes.”

Woman: “That’s my Bertie! Ugh, look. I’ve got myself a new sugar daddy! Plenty of money to sue the s*** out of you unless you give me back all the cats I’ve lost and you cloned!”

Me: “Ma’am… look… if you want to adopt one or more of these cats, we’ll happily work with you. If you feel the adoption fee is too high, that’s something to discuss with my manager.”

Woman: “Fine! I’ll come back and try again tomorrow. Mark my words though, I WILL get my kitties back from you!”

(She left and I immediately called my manager to tell her what happened. The woman then proceeded to come back for the next three days and repeat the same spiel of us housing cats that were actually clones of other cats, though she wavered between them being her cats or the cats of her friends, and how her new sugar daddy would provide all the money she needed to sue us. After that, however, she apparently grew bored, because we’ve never seen her since.)

(I am at my volunteer job in the local shelter when a woman and her daughter, who is maybe eight to nine years old, come in to check out our kittens. The daughter immediately comes up to me.)

Girl: “Do you have any monkeys?”

Me: “No, we just have cats and dogs, and I think we have a rabbit right now, too.”

Girl: “I love monkeys! I’m going to get one as a pet!”

(She continues to talk about how much she loves monkeys and wants to have one of her very own, while her mother adopts an “oh, no, here we go again” expression.)

Me: “Well, the thing is, it’s actually pretty difficult to keep a monkey as a pet.”

Girl: “It is?”

Me: “Yup. See, monkeys don’t like to be by themselves,; they get really unhappy if they’re left alone all day when you’re in school.”

Girl: “They do?”

Me: “Absolutely. Also, they can be hard to feed correctly. Do you know what monkeys eat?”

Girl: “I’d feed my monkey bananas!”

Me: “Well, some monkeys eat fruit, but they can’t eat only bananas. They need to eat a wide variety of fruits to stay healthy. And some monkeys don’t eat fruit, they eat bugs.”

Girl: “Really?”

Me: “Yup, they eat worms and flies and caterpillars…”

Girl: “Eeeew! I don’t want something that eats bugs! Maybe I shouldn’t get a monkey.”

Me: “Yeah, it’s a lot easier to keep a kitten. Would you like to hold one?”

(I showed her several of our kittens. As the two of them were leaving, her mother turned to me and whispered “thank you” with a very profound look of relief.)

(I am volunteering at a horse rescue and on the day of the open house fundraiser. I am stationed in front of a few stables to talk about the individual horses and make sure guests aren’t behaving too aggressively with the animals.)

Me: “This is DJ. He’s 15 years old and was rescued from an abandoned farm when he was just a foal. He’s been livi—”

Guest #1: *interrupting* “What? He was a different animal when you found him?”

Me: “No, ma’am, a foal is a baby horse.”

Guest #1: “Do you think I’m stupid? I know a baby horse is a pony. A foal sure ain’t a pony.”

Me: “Well, actually, ponies are just a small breed of horse; the actual name of a baby horse is a foal.”

(The guest looks down at her daughter and tells her, very clearly, that I don’t know what I’m talking about.)

Child: “My mommy says you’re stupid.”

Me: “I’m very sorry she feels that way.” *addressing the crowd as a whole again* “Anyway, DJ was brought here as a foal—”

Guest #2: *interrupting* “Wait, didn’t we just determine that foals aren’t real?”

Me: “Again, foals are very real. Ponies are as well. Ponies are a breed of horse; foals are baby horses. A baby pony is a foal.”

Guest #1: “Gee, I don’t know what this place is paying you, but they should save their money for someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m a volunteer.”

Guest #1: “Oh, so that’s why you don’t know. You’re just here for the cake.”

(Guest #1 and her daughter walk away, leaving me slightly dumbfounded. About 20 minutes later, my barn manager walks over to me.)

Manager: “I received a complaint you were spreading false information.”

Me: “Oh, yes, I was unaware that foals don’t exist and ponies are actually just baby horses.”

Manager: “There’s a reason you’re the volunteer and she’s not. You can take your break now. Go and get yourself a slice of cake.”

(I’m volunteering at an animal shelter which is having a big adoption event. I’m helping direct traffic. This guy is smiling through the whole conversation.)

Me: “Hi, if you don’t mind just parking over here in this lot, that would be great!”

Old Man: “What’s going on?”

Me: “We’re having a big adoption event today for dogs and cats!”

Old Man: “Are you on the adoption list?”

Me: *thinking he means to ask if I host foster animals* “Oh, no, I already have plenty!”

Old Man: “No. Think about what I said.”

Me: *realizes what he actually means* “Just go park over there…”

Old Man: “Think about it.”

Me: “Just go park.”

(Later I’m telling an actual employee about this:)

Employee: “Ew! I hope you spat on him!”

(I am a volunteer cat caretaker at a local animal shelter. Essentially I clean up, groom, and feed all rescued kitties and try to talk folk into adopting them. On this day a man and daughter are coo-ing over one of our recently arrived kittens that I’ve let out into the play area.)

Daughter: “Ooooh, daddy this one is so precious! And look, she loves me!” *the kitten is indeed licking her hand, purring, and rubbing its face against her* “Are you sure we can’t get another cat?”

Dad: “No, dear, not after what happened with the last one. I don’t want to have to replace the microwave again!”

(The daughter looked pouty and left with her father. I immediately put the kitten safely back in its cage and try not to shudder at the possible connotations of what was just said.)