One of The Many Things I've Never Understood

Many people chose a pet that would, if it still had its poison/stinger/claws/fangs, kill said person. I've never understood this fascination with caring for a creature that has a habit of killing your own species. Maybe it's just me, but I think, the definition of a pet, is, in part, a creature that enjoys to be pet.

If a pet loathes physical contact with its own, can it still be considered a pet? Or is it just more of a treasured prisoner? Maybe I'm missing something, maybe there is some distinct draw for owning a tarantula, some deep emotional or spiritual connection, or maybe, like farm animals, they contribute to the owner's survival and prosperity.

But I have my doubts.  I love pets, I love animals and I try to reserve my judgment until I meet the said person's tarantula/scorpion/poisonous snake/ baby blood-crazed minotaur, because maybe they are right, and Teddy the tarantula is adorable and loving once you get past his love nibbles.

I just wonder sometimes.