Sunday, May 28, 2006

Cats Hate Me

Okay, so I’m an admitted dog person. I do love animals, I just happen to understand dogs the best. My mom and sister are allergic to cats, so I’ve never lived with one. Consequently, I get it wrong - my interactions with cats are as haltingly awkward as a geeky teen at a school dance. I’ve tried to play on their terms. I let them approach me, I use a soothing voice, I let them rub the sides of their face against my motionless, placating arm. I used to draw a fierce Garfield.
Every now and then, I babysit cats for a neighbor or friend. As far as I can tell, the results are mixed I don’t mind helping out, because I am keenly aware of how hard being a single pet owner can sometimes be. There was one cat I looked after for what should have been two days. Except her owner had a serious car accident, leaving her hospitalized and forcing me into a bigger commitment than I wanted. This cat hated me. She would swipe furiously at my legs as I walked by with her food. She hissed and jumped out at me. One time I even called my mom, sobbing, after getting my ass kicked by a 8 pound furball of fury. But I got over it, because on the opposite end of kitty behavior are Victoria’s cats and Nicole’s cats, gentle and affectionate.
This weekend I’m in charge of three new cats while my neighbor is out of town. They are sweet, and one is an incredible fluffers. But they are all under investigation for Feline Naughtiness. Someone (ahem) knocked over a vase of flowers. Thanks a lot! I loved cleaning up broken glass first thing in the morning. Especially when I still had to face the litter box. GAG. I’ll be sending Lady Buttercup to sort you lot out if you don’t behave. Let that be a warning to you.

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