A new cat is nothing to sneeze at
Share with others:
I have a confession to make. I am afraid of cats.
I'm not afraid that they'll attack me or sneak up in the middle of the night and suffocate me (as they have been known to do to babies for centuries -- look it up on the Internet). I'm afraid that one day, despite years of resistance, I will end up owning one.
We had a dog for years, and I never had a problem. But now that Harry is gone, my wife and daughters have been lobbying for another pet, and somehow have decided (without any input from me) that a cat would be a good idea.
As explanation, I am highly allergic to cats. When I got out of college, I stayed with my brother and his wife for a time, and they had a long-haired gray cat named Samantha. Samantha was a friendly feline, always coming over and climbing on my shoulders as I sat on the couch. This caused my eyes to swell and my throat to close up until I looked, and sounded, like Gollum in the "Lord of the Rings" movies. To this day, when we go to someone's house, and they have a cat, I can last only 20 minutes or so until my eyes feel like hot coals. Cats are my Kryptonite.
The other problem with owning a cat is that cat owners, unlike dog owners, tend to be (and I say this with love and understanding) crazy. They often have more cats than they should and regularly give them names, complete with titles, that reveal the depths of their devotion. (No animal should be named "Mr. Jenkins Pittypaws, Esquire.")
When they talk about their cats, they go into a kind of wistful trance. They don't just love their cats. They're in love with their cats. I know my comments will drive a lot of cat owners crazy, but to be fair, it's not really that far of a drive. (I'd ask those who are offended to berate me in email rather than snail mail. Just opening the angry cat dander-infested letters might cause anaphylactic shock.)
I am open to the idea of getting another pet. We regularly stop by the local animal shelter looking for just the right dog. (I'm thinking a middle-aged mutt, one without too much energy, who likes to eat dinner and fall asleep on the couch. A canine version of me.) To get to the dog section, though, we have to walk by the cat section, cage after cage of felines curled up in balls, stretched out on their backs, or worst of all, playing with toys. This always makes my wife and daughters swoon, and within minutes, they start in with the pleading stares.
First Published February 11, 2012 12:00 am
