Cat Lover

It has been proven beyond a reasonable doubt that there are Cat people in this world and there are Dog people. I am a Dog person who is surrounded by Cat people. Yesterday, while we were waiting in line at Space Mountain, my mother told me about a "nightmare" she had the night before in which she had left the care of her two cats (amend, her one cat and my sister Kate's cat that my parents shelter) in the care of her brother while Mom was on vacation in California. In the dream, my mother checked up on the cats to find that the girl cat was preggers and the boy cat was missing. As I said, this was deemed a nightmare and, personally, I would love to know what dream analysts would say about my mother's psyche. I have a feeling it wouldn't really be about the cats or her permissive brother. That aside, it wasn't until this morning when I checked in over at Meg and Rachel's blogs -- both of which mentioned their cats -- that I realized that just about everyone I know loves their cat(s). And while I like cats and don't mind the odd cuddle and pet, I just don't feel the love. Go ahead, call me heartless, all you Cat people. Call me cruel and unfeeling. But at the end of the day, I'm a Dog person. I love dogs. I like how excited they get when they see you. How they want to be near you. How they want to accompany you everywhere. How they express exuberance at life, like everything is just one amazing spectacle. They are like 6-year olds with ADD. Cats are like 15-year old teenage girls. Maybe I want to be with you. Maybe I don't. For now I will tolerate your good will towards me.

I'm allergic to cats. One could hypothesize that this is the root of my non-Cat love. But one would be wrong. I didn't know that I was allergic until I was a teenager, and by then I was already begging, pleading, hoping, and Birthday-wishing for a dog. I think this is just instinctual. Like liking horror movies or spicy food. You either like it or you don't. I wish I were a Cat person. Unlike dogs, you don't have to rush home to let a cat out. Or fear what your cat might have done to your favorite pair of heels that you forgot to put away before you left for work. Or feel miserable every time you walk out the door and have to shove her nose back inside as she tries to sneak out behind you. And as a single girl of a certain age, it seems I'm destined to be an old maid who should collect a bazillion cats to keep her company until she dies and her cats eat the squishy parts of her face. But I won't be the Weird Cat Lady at the end of the block. I just don't feel the Cat love. Instead, I'll be that old lady walking her German Shepard...in the rain...picking up its man-sized poo with a biodegradable blue bag bought for the purpose...until she dies and he gnaws off her femur.