Some say that pet ownership is slavery.
After having 3 dogs in the past 34 years, I can definitely say, yes, I am a slave to my pets.
"Put me out"
"Feed me, I'm hungry -- but remember, I'm not eating that, so you better come up with something I like more."
"What, you want to put me out the back door on the tie out? I don't think so, I want a real walk. There's the leash ... are your legs broken?"
"Oh, you're going in the car. I'm coming. I'm riding in the front seat. That other human can ride in the back seat."
"That pill tastes just as bad the third time you tried to get it down my throat as it did the first time. Good luck getting me to take it, fool."
"I don't want tap water ... I want the bottle water from the fridge .. what's wrong with you?"
And yet we love them more than life itself. Go figure.
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and then let's talk personal slave to one's pets. I've had to adjust my entire sleep schedule, knowing she's going to have to go out between midnight and 1 AM, again, no later than 5 AM... and of course throughout the day. And, of course there was the big UPS fiasco Christmas Eve, when I had to drive 60 miles in snow to find her way-laid shipment of special dietary dog food. And, I can assure you, that I did. 
(but, don't think I'd trade a good night's sleep for all these last days with my fury sweetheart, because, while I might complain a bit, I surely wouldn't. 
)
And oh am I a slave!!! Her authority goes beyond telling me what time to wake up, to dictating which sleeping positions are acceptable, and when! 
I let her wake me, I let her make her little catnip piles, I will go months without recycling an old shipping box because she wants to play in it, etc. My apartment is only about 10% my own. The way I see it: I will have years and years to vacuum up that catnip, or to throw out that unused box, or sleep however and whenever I want. My days to appreciate my servitude will only grow fewer, so I appreciate instead of complain
