A Dog Person Sings the Praises of Cats

I hate cats.

Okay, that's not really true. But as a self-described "dog person", I've always had a very different attitude toward cats than dogs. I like all dogs as a general rule, unless and until a particular dog gives me a reason not to. Cats, I evaluate on a case-by-case basis. I always found cats to be aloof, standoffish, even downright snobby, if that's possible. I wondered how people could feel such affection for a creature that didn't seem to give a rip whether their owner lived or died, as long as it had food and water and a clean litter box.

Then, last summer, Tyler and Sydney each got a kitten. Or, more accurately, I felt guilty for giving away their outrageously rambunctious and destructive dogs and so allowed myself to be suckered into it. My motivation was simple: the girls desperately wanted something soft and fuzzy to cuddle and love on, and I didn't want to get another dog and jump right back into the whirlpool of chaos and stress I'd just escaped from. I checked out bunnies, and it turns out they're not recommended for small children as they don't like to be picked up very much - a deal-breaker with a child like Sydney, whose immediate instinct is to hug and squeeze anything with fur until its eyeballs practically pop out of its head. I looked into guinea pigs, but wasn't confident I could keep the house from smelling like a pet store. Ditto ferrets - plus they just creep me out. So with a somewhat resigned sigh I took the girls to WalMart to stock up on kitten food and litter boxes and cat toys before driving to a friend of a friend's house to pick up the newest additions to our household.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that kittens are pretty darned cute. You'd almost have to have a heart of stone not to think that, despite your feelings about what a kitten grows up to be. So I found myself unable to keep from going, "Awwwww!" along with Tyler and Sydney as we watched Whiskers and Blackie's antics around the house: investigating every nook and cranny they could squeeze their tiny bodies into, crying like babies when one got out of sight of the other, pouncing on their plastic toys as if they were mighty lions prowling the plains in Africa. Against my will, they started to grow on me.

Fast-forward seven months. These darned animals have me totally wrapped around their little paws. I actually caught myself the other day saying to someone, "MY cats..." I walk down the cat aisle in the grocery store whenever I'm there just to check out the toys and treats they have. I bought them a gigantic kitty condo, telling myself it was so they'd have something to climb on other than my furniture, but down deep I'm not so sure that was the primary motivation. My heart melts when I see how patient and sweet they are with the girls - especially Sydney, who can't let either one of them walk by her without picking him up and cradling him like a baby in her arms. I actually get a little bummed out when they don't come in my room and sleep on the bed with me at night. And when Tyler and Sydney talk about taking the cats with them when they're grown and out of the house, I do the best I can to ignore the tiny prick of sadness in the center of my chest.

Oh, they do things that drive me up the wall, too, like chewing on my houseplants and getting on the kitchen counters and clawing the pool table cover to shreds. Thinking about all the things I could've done with the money I've spent on vet bills doesn't exactly put a smile on my face. And why is it that whenever a cat pukes, he has to do it on the edge of the carpet, SIX INCHES away from the linoleum?! But still, my perception of cats has changed a lot since living with them for the past seven months.

I no longer think cats are necessarily snobby or aloof - just selective in the company they choose to keep. (Something us humans would do well to imitate, I think.) When Tyler or Sydney have been sick and didn't feel like getting out of bed, Whiskers and Blackie both have stayed with them all day, only leaving long enough to use the litter box or get a drink of water. When we were gone for a few days over Thanksgiving, they were so glad to see us back that they followed us around the house, meowing like babies, for at least a week. They greet Tyler and Sydney at the foot of the stairs every morning when they hear their alarm clocks go off.

It used to seem dismissive or rude to me when a cat that I was petting would just suddenly get up and walk away. But now I see that for what it really was: my own insecurity. It's not the cat's job to feed my ego, for Pete's sake! How sad is that?

I still love dogs, and probably someday will get another dog (after Tyler and Sydney take my cats away from me, that is). But for now, I'm happy with meows and purrs and the occasional hairball. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a cute face.