I’m Really Not a Cat Person

Not in the least bit. When Katie chose to adopt her friend’s cat in 1998 or so, I figured “oh, that’s nice”. No one warned me of the itchy, burning eyes. No one mentioned the endless river of snot dribbling out my nose. I never heard about the fact that cats are attracted to those who don’t want them around like some sort of living torture device.

I’m a dog person. I grew up with dogs, I can understand dogs, I can relate to dogs. In college, I studied wolves and I believed that I was a canid in a past life. However, at the time, I never acquired a dog because I never felt I was responsible enough to take care of a living creature. And that was okay because two of my roommates got dogs, and the countless hippies who migrated through my apartments had dogs as well. All was okay.

And then the cat arrived.

She sleeps on my head at night. She lies on my arms while I try to type at my computer. She takes my seat at the dinner table. She commandeers any piece of furniture that should be kept hairless and scratch-free. I wake up in the night to see her staring at me. And when she sees my eyes open, she head-butts me. Listen, cat, I’m trying to sleep, okay?

But she is cute and she’s part of the family, so what can you do, right?

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