I have a friend who thinks that people don't really dislike cats. Yes Jennie, this is for you.
She thinks that it is just a cultural fad to hate cats, and, well, I can see where she's coming from with that one. Have you seen a Dog vs. Cat movie lately? Right. Neither have I. But I've seen enough previews to know that the cats are always portrayed as the evil species. Not to mention dogs have that whole "man's best friend" thing on their side, and I mean, when was the last time you heard someone talking about their fiercely loyal cat?
So we see that maybe society has not painted cats in the best of lights, and Jennie may be on to something with her accusations. However, I am here today to tell you that I, as an individual, really. hate. cats.
My sister moved in recently, bringing with her three children, one dog, and two cats. Do not worry, I warned her that I was going to use her cat as basis for this post. And so, without further ado, I give you the list of reasons why Sadie hates cats.
• Cats are creepy.
Over the years I have heard rumors about cats. Like, if you die at home a dog will stay by your side until someone finds you but a cat will eat your corpse. Does this have any merit to it? I have no idea, but it has still stuck with me. This possibly made-up fact aside, cats can see in the dark, which just is not right. Their eyes glow and you know they can see you perfectly and they are planning an attack and you can do nothing but sit there and pray that today is not the day the cat decides it no longer has use for you.
• Cats have no respect for personal space.
One thing Jennie loves about cats is the way they snuggle up to you. You guys, I hate it. If you have ever tried to give me a hug, or even an over-zealous hand shake, you know that my personal bubble is huge, and this remains true for animals. I don't want your furry little body sitting on my feet. It creeps me out. I especially hate when a cat does that creepy little snake thing through your legs. Like, are you trying to kill me? Do you want me to be able to walk? Not only does it feel like an attack on my life, it just completely crosses that comfort line and makes me feel totally uncomfortable. I can't even explain it. I literally shiver each time it happens.
• Cats want your food.
These are some direct quotes from cat owners:
"What happened to the pie crusts? The cats must have gotten to them."
"Cover your food when we're at church or the cats will eat it."
"Watch your chicken, the cat's coming for it."
"The cat tried to share my cereal with me this morning."
Stop it. That is disgusting. I don't want anyone sticking their face in my food, especially not an animal. I hate having to completely cover everything lest the cat get to it. I hate having to pay more attention to the location of the cat than the food I am eating. Which leads me to my next cat hatred:
• Cat jumping.
The things are like freaking circus performers. One second they're quietly sitting in the corner, the next they've soared across the room, over the table, and have landed on the counter as physically close to you as possible in an attempt to eat whatever you're eating. Again with the personal bubble. But it's more than that. You guys, there is a cat on my kitchen counter. Where I eat my food. Where I sometimes set my piece of bread when making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Where the silverware is set. As long as the cat is all over the counter, why don't I just set my bread on the cat? Oh right, because that is unsanitary.
In an offense more specifically related to the cat pictured above, I have another situation regarding personal bubbles.
• Cats give you heart attacks.
I had just moved into the basement. You guys, I was scared. Judge if you will, but I watch a lot of America's most wanted/Investigation Discovery/24/CSI/crime television, and naturally sleeping downstairs instead of up puts me at greater risk of being murdered. So when I came back in from brushing my teeth to find a sleeping cat on the foot of my bed, I decided to let it slide. Better to be in the company of a cat than utterly alone in the world.
Wrong. At approximately 4:00 in the morning I was woken by what I was sure was my kidnapper/killer. I proceeded to react how I hope I would react were this actually the situation, pretending to still be asleep as my adrenaline kicked in and I managed to attack and constrain the offender. But then, just as I was preparing for the attack, I realized the "hand of death" on my face was actually the paw of a cat. On my face. In the middle of the morning. To understand the full horror of this situation, refer to each bullet point above. Except for the third one.
And so please, I ask of you, let me go on hating cats in peace, without question my motives or true feelings.