My cat, the Emperor Maximus, in more or less his natural state. I am more of a cat person than a dog person, truth be told. Cats are generally (but not always) quieter, cleaner, easier to take care of, and less emotionally needy. Dogs sometimes seem to be co-dependent; they require constant reassurance that they aren't about to be put on the spit and barbecued, whereas cats really couldn't care less what we think of them. Dogs seem insecure; cats suffer from self-importance that almost borders on the kind of hubris Greek playwrights used to talk about.
Maximus is especially prone to lying on my chest when I'm trying to read in bed. I probably have lesions on my liver and pancreas shaped like cat footprints, and Max had puffed so much hair in my face it's a wonder that I don't hack up hairballs.
We have two other cats, but they lack Maximus's savoir-faire. Baxter sleeps in the closet all day and only comes out at night to leap between my stomach and the windowsill. Poopie wanders around all day looking haggard and annoyed and acting like she wants to barf on something expensive.
What was I saying about cats being easier to take care of than dogs? Give a dog a piece of bread and she's happy. Give a cat a slice of bread and they call the Mother Ship and arrange to have you turned into a cloud of ionized gas.
No comments:
Post a Comment