Why Your Cat Hates You… by Bill McCurry

Good morning. I am your cat, and as you know I rarely speak. My vocabulary is poor. I cannot make myself understood by you and your human friends. Trust me, if it were otherwise I would be on the phone right now ordering Finding Nemo on Pay per View. But today God has granted me five minutes of articulate speech so that I can clear up a thing or two with you, my owner.

First let us crush some misconceptions. I do not own you. You have the ability to remove my genitals and my claws. So, let us not be ridiculous by talking about me owning you. Also, I am not all that independent. I like you. You give me food, and you do funny things like sit on the toilet. When you are gone I miss you, and when you come home I stick to you like a fuzzy, dignified rash. Sure, if you dropped dead I would happily eat your corpse, but I am not going to drag you down like a gazelle on the veldt.

Now that we have resolved that, let us get specific. You complain because I scratch up your couch. You gave me a charming scratching post, and I ignore it like it was the ghost of Lassie. You yell and squirt water at me, which makes me sad because you are missing the point. Your couch is as ugly as moose crotch. I mean really, sunflowers? I never scratch the ottoman, because it is a lovely piece of furniture. I am doing you a favor by pointing out an appalling item in our shared home, so please desist squirting me with that bottle. I think it has bacteria in it.

You often laugh at me when I play. I am happy to provide you amusement. Please consider how much amusement I provide for such a small investment. All I need is a crumpled piece of paper to entertain you. And yet, when you play it is in fact quite boring for me. I do not want to hurt your feelings, but seven hours of twitching your thumb in front of your computer or X-Box is hardly a laugh riot for me. Please consider my enjoyment when choosing your leisure activities. Play your Wii more often. When you are Wii bowling I laugh so hard I think I am going to pee.

Let me raise another sore point. Sometimes I meow a lot, and sometimes I whine. Yes, I admit that on occasion I howl at 3:00 a.m. when you have an important meeting with a real jerk in only four hours. Sometimes when you are asleep I lie on your face, lick your eyelids, and pull out your hair with my teeth. All of this behavior must puzzle you and even anger you. I want you to understand that I do these things because you gave me a stupid name. You named me Snowball, and my brother is named Macaroni. I know cats named Oatcake, Loki, Tigger, and Dammit. Come on. Would you name your son “Schmoo”? How about “Sassafras”? Stop naming us like we were roadies on a Def Leppard tour and you will have a lot more peace at home.

When I roll on catnip while gripped by a profound euphoria, I sometimes sense that you are mocking me. I suspect that you are saying, “Look at the silly cat! He’s going crazy for that catnip. That’s just so wild!” I may be wrong about your comments, and if so I apologize, but just allow me to say this. You drink martinis and smoke dope. I roll in catnip and chase laser pointers. No one has cause to throw stones here.

Sometimes I feel we have lost sight of our respective roles in the home. My role is to be cute, play, eat your food, sleep, keep you company, and throw up in your shoe. Your role is to feed me, provide a lap for me on demand, clean my litter box, give me toys, keep me company, and leave your shoes lying around. When we both know our job, everything runs smoothly. My job may seem menial or even boring. Yet I remind you that I have never had to explain a return policy to an angry customer.

I hope we now better understand one another. This was certainly cathartic for me, and I expect it was illuminating for you. Now we can achieve a more harmonious life together, one that is genteel and even generous. We may yet create a world where I walk into the kitchen to find a can of tuna by my bowl, and you walk into the bedroom to find a dead bird on your pillow.


Thanks to Bill McCurry for allowing me to post this great article. Bill is a one of the best blog writers I’ve encountered in years visit him at http://whimsoffairness.wordpress.com. or click on his name (in blue). Lots of great posts and more about cats. Thanks Bill.

Hemingway Hassle

My wife is the consummate cat lover, and I must admit to a bit of the affliction myself. Having visited Key West, Florida, several years ago, our favorite tourist destination was the Hemingway House, replete with about fifty cats (both six-toed and their less exalted five-toed relatives) descended from Hemingway’s own original brood. Typical scenes we encountered on the house tour included cats snoozing away on quilted spreads atop antique wrought-iron beds, cats curled up on overstuffed Avignon chairs, and cats languishing in the sun-dappled shade of cool, breezy walkways. A few of the more frisky inhabitants greeted us on the trail around the house and accompanied us over sprawling porches and into first-floor sitting rooms.

We were appalled to hear of the recent movement underfoot to confine the beloved cats to leashes during the day and cages at night, as well as subject them to other government regulations. It seems a visitor to the house had complained about some whimsical nuance regarding their care. These cats benefit from weekly vet visits, have the run of the house, enjoy regulated nutritious diets, and most are spayed and neutered to prevent multiplying beyond their present numbers. There are fences and foliage to keep them inside the estate – in fact, they do not attempt to leave because they have it so good, and are adept at keeping wannabe feline friends out so they don’t have to share the wealth. Even PETA has green-lighted their living arrangement.

So I have to ask – in these times of fiscal cliffs, debt ceilings, healthcare confusion, waste, fraud, and abuse of taxpayer dollars – doesn’t the federal government have more pressing things to do than fixing what ain’t broke? Everyone knows that dogs have owners, but in this case, cats have staff!