Cats Are Not Our Friends
Except for small pockets of Appalachia, where folks apparently live with chickens and the occasional head of livestock, most of us keep cats and/or dogs as household pets.
Personally, I’ve always been partial to dogs. They’re loyal and friendly, and make wonderful companions. There’s nothing like coming home from a stressful workday, and being greeted by a big, goofy, tail-wagging, happy-as-shit mutt. They have the power to brighten even the darkest of days.
Cats, on the other hand, baffle me. I sincerely don’t understand the attraction.
“Independent” is the word apologists use, and it’s code for aloof, uncaring, disdainful, and superior. Cats walk around on their tip-toes all day, shooting dirty looks and believing they’re better than everyone else. It’s like willingly living with the French, and why in God’s name would anyone want to do that?
Yeah, come home to a cat after a hard day at the office, and it’ll just look down its abbreviated snout at you, from over on the windowsill. They don’t care, they think you deserve it. If self-loathing and personal doubt could somehow spring to life, it would very likely be a tabby.
Sure, they sometimes do that figure-eight thing around your feet, and that’s kind of cute. But it’s a con. They’re not displaying genuine affection, they just want something from you. Probably food. I’ve dated girls like that before, and it’s pissing me off just thinking about it.
Cats also shit indoors, usually inside their own dedicated store-bought shitting box. Talk about arrogant! Dogs just crap in the yard, or on the neighbors’ driveway, and that’s that. No special equipment required. They wouldn’t be caught dead standing inside an open-top defecation pod. I mean, seriously.
Cats are also pretty creepy. You always feel like there’s more going on with them, than meets the eye.
I lived with a woman years ago who owned a feline sack o’ ticks — which just goes to show what some guys are willing to endure for, um, love — and I’d sometimes wake up with that thing sitting on my chest. It would be staring at me, unblinking, with an expression that said, “The only reason you’re still alive is because of a decision I made.”
No, cats are not my idea of a good time. I’d never harm one, of course, but don’t really want to be around them, either. Because dogs are a man’s best friend, and cats are a New Orleans voodoo queen with ulterior motives.