A difference between me and Sy Montgomery

Before going to the main point, I’d like to say that The Soul of an Octopus is a very good book. It is less about octopus facts than about the author’s personal accounts of her encounters with octopuses at New England Aquarium, written in lucid prose, full of feeling and tenderness. Now and then there’s a sense that there’s some exaggeration—like the over-enthusiasm of an octopus lover who glorifies everything about the creature, but the author has such an infectious curiosity and sense of wonder that you share the enthusiasm and want to know everything possible about octopuses and start seeing them in a different way. 
Now, on chapter 4, I’ve started to see a significant difference between me and Sy Montgomery—it is the fact that I’m not an animal lover. By this, I don’t mean that I dislike animals; I love dogs and cats, and like other “safe” animals like hamsters or rabbits, and so on, and even with dogs, prefer puppies and small dogs; I’m not a fan of insects nor arthropods, and don’t come near wild, untamed animals, especially those with venom or massive strength.
Part of it is ignorance, indifference, and fear. I have always been a city person, who can’t tell the difference between crocodiles and alligators, between leopards and jaguars, between rabbits and bunnies and hares, between frogs and toads, you get the idea. I can’t tell which kinds of snakes are venomous either. To me it’s simple—stay away from snakes. My interests have always been in other things. 
Part of it is that I think wild animals are wild animals. No matter how much you love them and care for them and understand them, they are still wild animals, driven by instinct, undomesticated, untamed, and unpredictable. Animal lovers usually say people are not much better, they may also kill you or ruin you in other ways, but at least people can communicate in language, and people know such things as law and concept of ethics. Animals follow instinct, they function and operate in their own ways, and don’t know anything about law or consequences. Wild animals are very different from us humans. 
On page 70-71, chapter 3, Sy Montgomery writes about Marion Fish, who “demonstrated the positive power of interesting, gentle, loving interaction between keepers and the animals in their care” by directly handing anacondas, without head restraint. “[T]he snakes are healthier and happier for it”, she says. 
That seems to work, I guess, but they are anacondas. What if 1 day they go crazy? What if they get irritated by something and take it out on a keeper? What would you do? 
Now, in chapter 4, Montgomery describes an episode where several people are having an interaction with a young octopus named Kali, suddenly she (Kali) hoses and then, for no obvious reason, bites Anna, a volunteer. 
It is an act of aggression. The bite isn’t serious, there is no venom, Anna feels fine afterwards. Montgomery says “Being bitten is an intimate interaction” and “a bite is proof of a kind of contact that—even when it goes wrong—at a time when most people are increasingly isolated from the natural world, we are privileged to experience.” 
Nobody understands why the octopus bit Anna. Montgomery’s theory is that Anna is on medication and the doctor has just changed prescription, so Kali could taste the difference and got confused. 
Even then that doesn’t change the fact that the octopus, unprovoked, bites someone it knows. If an octopus attacks again, you can never know, as you don’t know what they think. Montgomery may try to understand, and explain the behaviour, but it doesn’t change anything. 
Wild animals are still wild animals. At the beginning of the book, when an aquarist introduces Montgomery to an octopus, he also tells her never to let an octopus near her face. He has worked there for years, and knows enough not to let an octopus near the face. It could pull out your eye.