Oliver, Lucy, Jax (bottom)

I grew up with dogs. Ever since I was a child, I have had a dog. Until now. Now I have three cats. It’s an important enough fact that I included it in my bio — you know, that super sacred space that Medium gives us to basically tweet our entire existence. That little spot below your picture that people read quickly and might decide whether to follow you or not. That bio.

Why is having cats a big deal?
Allow me to share…

Ever hear: huuuhwwwwllllt…haaaalllllwuhh…hooooouhhhh..uuuu…uack in the middle of the night? If you have, then you’ve heard a cat wake you up with their barfing. It always seems that they run to the most expensive thing in your house before barfing too. Like they might think couch and hop up there to lay a barf.

Have you ever been sitting in your house, minding your own business, doing your thing, when all of a sudden it smells like someone walked in the room with you and took a giant shit on the floor? That’s what happens when you have cats. Their “litter box” is really an indoor porta-potty with no flush or water. I didn’t think a porta-potty could be grosser but litter boxes take the cake. Then when you have to scoop them two to three times per week, then change them once a week — reference barfing sound above.

Cat pee is easily the worst thing on the planet. I’m surprised it hasn’t been weaponized yet. Just thinking of scooping the litter box or changing it is enough to make me pull my shirt over my nose. I’d rather pick up the hot, steaming swirls of dog crap breakfast, noon, and night than clean out a litter box. Yet I do.

Dogs vs. Cats

At least a dog is happy after you take them out to “do their business.” Cats are like fuck off. Seriously. Their face is a perpetual cool story, tell me more. Dogs are happy and you know it. They wag their tails and tongues and don’t hide a single emotion. Cats have no emotions. They are robots.

When you feed a dog, they go fucking bananas. They hop around and bark and spin and dance — pure joy. They are so happy that you are feeding them. Cats? They’re like ‘bout fucking time. No appreciation.

When you call a dog by name, it perks up and immediately comes to you, ready to be of service. When you call a cat by name it’s like, that’s not my name. Then it prisses away from you with high tail. No one likes high tail, that’s way too much butthole on display. I don’t need to see that. Dogs at least have the decency to use their tails appropriately.

Dogs are loyal. This is not news. Cats are not. Not to us, anyway. They are loyal to their naps and their needs but for all else, eh. These mysterious beasts somehow convince countless pet parents to take them into their homes. What the hell and how?

Let’s talk about kittens.

That’s how. Yes, puppies are cute and cuddly — always. But kittens. Shit. Evolution wins. Especially with women and young girls. They go bat shit crazy. I know this because I have three cats. These three cats took their turn doing nothing other than existing — as super adorable balls of fluffy fucking cuteness. After the second cat, I caved. The third was my fault.

If you can’t beat them, Train them

I clearly like dogs better than cats. I hope I’ve made that obvious. However, in my jesting, I may have also not been clear that I’m a huge animal lover of all types. I don’t hate cats or even dislike them. I don’t at all care for their maintenance or the hair they leave on every fucking thing I own. Wear black? With cats? That’s funny. Seriously though, cats are actually really awesome animals. All of our cats have distinct personalities — even in their apparent emotionlessness.

I don’t know how it happened, I just know that it did. I didn’t think it was as big of a deal as my wife did but I’ve managed to “train” two of our cats. The youngest one (the one that was my fault), Lucy, loves me above all else. I am one-hundred percent “her person.” I didn’t want that at first because she was a Mother’s Day gift a few years ago. For whatever reason, she picked me.

She would always jump up on the arm of the couch and meow loudly and screechy and do that “pet me” thing where they rub into you then take a little walk then turn around, meow, and repeat. It’s fucking annoying. I’ve never liked that. So I trained her. When she jumps up on the couch now, I tap two fingers on the outer edge and she moves forward, folds herself down, and waits for me to pet her. No meow. No fuss. Same routine every time I’m on the couch.

I trained the next oldest (Ollie) because there’s no way I’m listening to shout-meows at three in the morning. He always used to come into our bedroom, exactly at 3 a.m., and meow like a fucking rooster seeing the Sun. Nope.

Now I tell him “tiny meow” when he’s being loud and he literally shifts his volume to tiny. Sometimes he goes so quiet that he just opens his mouth and nothing comes out.

I’m a dog man in a cat man’s house. I get by.

Seriously though, how could you not love kittens?


© Anthony O’Dugan 2021

I love to rhyme, often sensually. I have to write, otherwise insanity. I leave my heart on paper. Feel free to feel my feels. I comment lovingly and completely.

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