I do not like cats.

If you like cats, I may or may not still like you. I have several friends whose families own cats…and I love those friends dearly. But…show me too many pictures you’ve taken with your cats on Christmas, or send me too many emails about the “cute” things your cat does when she’s in heat, and it is a serious possibility that we’ll never be close friends at all.

Here are my reasons:

1. Every cat I have ever met has seemed so…sneaky. Let’s get one thing straight: I do not act like I like cats when I am around them. I don’t pretend to care about my friends’ cats. No, I am not necessarily openly hostile to other people’s pets [much as I would like to kick every little tigger I see to the next side of Timbuktu], but neither do I put on false airs of loving the creatures. I mostly ignore them when I see them. Why, then, do cats feel the need to sneak up behind me, uninvited, and slink between my ankles, tickling my legs with their fuzzy fuzzy hair? They make no noise (unlike dogs whose claws at least clickety-clack on tile floor), so I am always caught unaware. And I am always left feeling suspicious of these felines’ motives. Sneaky.

2. Cats are takers; they will take as much as they can out of any relationship, and rarely give anything in return. Obviously, I realise that few animals have much to offer any person by way of material goods…but one would think a cat could at least show its owner an occasional inkling of gratitude. Heck, even the humblest of dogs can understand the importance of a simple tail-wag. Instead, though, I have observed that, after they have taken all they can, cats only retreat further into their self-absorbed little lives. Never openly willing to show affection, cats remind me of some of the worst dates of my life. Maybe that’s why I can barely tolerate them.

3. Those pictures. They annoy me more than I could possibly express through the written word.

Image from here.

So if I am so vehement in my dislike of cats, why do I feel so sad for the poor little homeless wretch (read: kitten) that has taken up residence in my sister’s backyard wood pile? [Oh yeah–I’m in Arizona. Good guesses, everyone!] I mean it when I say I do not care for cats. But this one…she has meowed and meowed at the back door for the past three nights, and even though it is a hideous, wretched sound, I kind of feel…sad for it.

This cat is free to a good home. Or a bad home. Heck, it can be a whorehouse for all I care.

“Meow…meow…MEOW!!!” she whines, and all I can think is how lonely it must be out there. She is, after all, just a kitten. Plus, she has a little belt-looking collar, so she belongs to someone, and I would probably appreciate it if I were in the owner’s position.

Staring straight at me, as though there is something I can do for her.

I still haven’t fed her, because I am entrenched in a deep internal battle between everything I stand for and everything that’s right [and no, those two things don’t always match up]. But honestly, I don’t know how this cat is still alive after an entire week of this. I don’t want it to die…I just want it out of my life.

I cannot make decisions like this. What should I do? Anybody lost a cat out there? Or…does anybody want to save this one’s life? Because my sister is ready to put a little bowl of antifreeze out there for the dang thing, and try as I might, I cannot feel good about this.

Seriously though. Free kitty. Anyone? Anyone?

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