I wrote last week about my affection for dogs and I am flipping the script this week. I won’t go so far as to say I hate cats, but I am definitely not a cat person.
The only thing that saves me from complete feline abhorrence is that they start out as adorable kittens. They play with string, chase laser pointers and are the definition of frisky.
I had a kitten in the ‘80s I named Nut because of his craziness. He would repeatedly zoom around my recliner in a circle, suddenly stop and stare at me while stretching.
Once I woke out of a deep sleep and couldn’t figure out why, but Nut was sitting on the pillow next to me. I dozed again, was awakened once more and still didn’t know why. I then feigned sleep and discovered Nut was amusing himself by pawing at my lips and watching them jiggle.
Kittens are cool, but unfortunately they grow up and become furry Sith Lords.
A faithful dog like Lassie will run miles and communicate that Timmy has fallen down the well. A cat not only wouldn’t do that, he would have been the one who pushed Timmy down the well in the first place.
Now I know the arguments cat lovers use for their devotion, so let me address them.
1. When a cat purrs and rubs on your leg it means it loves you. No, that means they are marking you (literally dehumanizing you). It is similar to how a dog marks their territory with urine.
2. They are so clean. Cat lovers often say a cat is “taking a bath.” Uh, in my world, when you lick your hands (or paws) and then rub your own spit on your head, that is not a “Calgon, take me away!” moment. It’s just gross.
3. Cats are independent, not aloof. First off, they aren’t independent, if anything they are interdependent as all cats are secretly part of the evil Galactic Empire. But if they are so independent, let your cat feed itself. Or better yet, clean its own litter box.
4. Well . . . uh . . . cats are good mice catchers. I’ll concede this one, but it’s not a universal ability.
Once we had a mouse problem, so I set up an old-fashioned mouse trap underneath the kitchen sink. Soon one got his paw stuck in the trap, but wasn’t dead and was a-squeakin’ up a storm. It was horrible.
Our cat Pearl came to investigate and the mouse became silent, so I thought he’d expired. Then he suddenly let out a piercing squeak and Pearl shot straight up in the air like scared cats do. After my laughing/coughing fit, I was ashamed of my stupid cat for being a flop at the one thing cats are supposed to instinctively be good at. I let the mouse go over the back fence, by the way.
Pearl and I are sworn enemies and yet live in a state of détente for the sake of my wife and daughter. Still, shots are fired in anger from time to time like how she recently strategically coughed up a nasty hairball right in line where I walk – barefoot – in the morning to turn on the heat. But her ultimate act of evil happened during Christmastime of 2011.
I set up our faux Christmas tree and detected a foul odor. I was convinced the horrible smell was coming from the tree that we had owned for years. I tossed it into the trash and purchased a new one.
As I was setting up the new tree, I noticed the horrible stench was still there. I then took a peek in the corner behind my electronics console and discovered the source of the stench. Pearl had purposely defiled my man cave. Repeatedly.
I exploded and I know that she somehow filmed my reaction and uploaded it to the secret, password-protected cat YouTube channel they use to show off their evil machinations against mankind.
Pearl acts innocent, but one of these days I will catch her watching her videos, rubbing her paws together, doing that “Mwahahaha!” laugh and stroking, of course, a smaller cat.
Reach Fairfield writer Tony Wade at firstname.lastname@example.org.