Cat People

I love animals, all kinds of them.  Except lizards, which I have a long, phobic history with, but that is an entirely separate and traumatizing story in itself.  I am the kind of girl who brakes for birds who are a bit too close to my windshield, and when I see a rabbit I turn into super annoying girl and squeal, “Oooooohhhh look! A BUNNY!”  I volunteer at a local no-kill animal shelter, I am on the Humane Society mailing list, and I giggle when PETA throws things on Lindsey Lohan and her fur coat.   

However, as much as I love all animals, I consider myself to be very strictly a dog person.  I grew up either having a dog or scheming up plans to convince my parents that a dog was imperative to my survival. I even presented them with a formal presentation on our patio, complete with note cards and visual aids, detailing my promises of daily walks and picking up poop if they bought me a little furry friend. There is not much in this world that makes me happier than a puppy and the distinct smell of its puppy breath as it licks my nose with its tiny pink tongue.  But, cats are okay too.  Honest, I like them, I do.  But kittens just simply do not possess that special ability to make me melt the way puppies instantly do. And unfortunately, guys who have cats do not make me melt the way a guy without a cat does. 

Here is the thing about pets:  just like shoes, they tell you a lot about a guy.  When I walk into a guy’s home and I can smell that slight but all too familiar scent of kitty litter, I instantly find myself wanting to run for the door, jump in my car and race home to a face full of slobbery dog kisses. 

Now, I like to think that I am not a shallow person, but as I have gotten older I have learned to accept myself as I am.  My DealBreakers list is long, and it is like that for a reason.  Because every time I meet a guy who seems different, or seems like he could be The One or that he might actually know how to be a good boyfriend and a decent human being, I end up looking past all the little DealBreakers that he possesses.  And obviously, as evidenced by my current single status, it never ends well.  So forget it, I am shallow and picky, and I am ready to embrace that; which means that if a guy wears diamond earrings, or takes longer than me to get ready, or if he is emotionally retarded then I am not dating him.  And guess what else?  If he has a cat, that is a DealBreaker.

Maybe this seems a tad harsh, but let me explain my reasoning before you decide I am a complete bitch. Afterwards, if you still think I am a complete bitch then you are probably a cat person.

I once dated a cat guy, if you can even call it dating, who seemed to be full of boyfriend potential.  He was super cute and sweet, covered in quality tattoos, was a Christian like me, and was in a band.  What could possibly go wrong, you ask?  I’ll tell you what went wrong.  The first time I stepped into his apartment and I smelled that smell and saw those weird carpet covered cat towers.  This guy had five cats in his tiny box of an apartment.    One cat is pushing it, five cats is creepy.  We sat on his cat hair covered couch about five feet apart watching the movie he chose (Sex and the City…uhhhh, what?), while I was working on my plan to avoid any physical contact without hurting Cat Guy’s feelings.   We all know that cat people are weirdly sensitive; you just never know what is going to set them off.  While I was coming up with the lie that I was going to tell him in order to escape, his cat jumped up on the couch, all stealthily out of nowhere like a little ninja, and stalked over to me and started sniffing my hair.  I was paralyzed with fear, because just like cat people, you never know what will set a cat off.  One false move and those kitty claws might mess up my face, and this face is all I have. 

                I knew it was coming, and I did not want to do it, but there was really no need to delay the inevitable.  We had to have the conversation.

“Sooo, are you like…a cat guy?” I tried to ask nonchalantly, as if the weird feather and bell toys littering the floor were not enough to answer my question. 

“Yeah, I love cats.  I have five and I just think they are so great,” said Cat Guy with a big stupid smile, “Do you like cats?” he asked full of hope. 

“Ummm, weeelllllll, I mean, I am really more of a dog person, you know?”  The big stupid smile fell right off his pretty little face.

“Oh,” he said awkwardly.  “I don’t really like dogs.”

And that was the point when we realized that there was no point.  I told him my lie and as soon as I walked out that door I sucked in the fresh non-kitty litter air as if a second ago someone had been holding me underwater trying to kill me. 

It’s just too much.  Plus, I am allergic.  Maybe if I had started with that fact you wouldn’t hate me so much.  To be honest, they just make my throat itch a little and I get kind of sneezy, but I’m not willing to put up with that shit for a cat.  For a cuddly little beagle, yes.  Stuck up face-scratcher-offer, no.

 

Obviously, I would never want to own a cat myself.  But one time I did think that I accidentally hit one with my car and had to pull over and call my boyfriend at the time to tell him how bad I felt. I bawled my eyes out, real tears, and I was even shaking a little bit.  Later that night, we drove back down that same road and did not see any guts or fur scattered on the pavement, so I think it is possible that the little guy dodged me, bless his kitty heart.  So there is your proof, I do not hate cats, and I am not a complete bitch. 

Cats just come with a lot of baggage, and mostly that baggage is their owner. Cat people have this superior way of thinking they are so much better than the dog people and their desire for crazy nonsense like love and emotional bonding. Sure, maybe cats are smarter than dogs, but if pets reflect their owners, and I say that they do, I would happily take a loving, cute, outgoing, dumb guy over a sneaky, moody, stubborn, smart guy.  I would rather date a dog than a pussy any day.