I'll confess, I'm a dog person.
I grew up on a ranch in the wilds of Montana where we always had dogs. One was smart as a whip. One was friendly as hell and loved to play, and would never engage in rough horseplay until I had rawhide leather gloves protecting my hand. And one was dumber than wood, but the sweetest creature ever to walk upon the face of the earth.
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| How can you not adore this guy? |
So imagine my shock and surprise when, as an adult, I find myself sharing domicile with two cats. One's fat and crafty, the other is a dumb blonde.
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| "I'm in a TANK!!!" |
While I've come to tolerate, enjoy, and, (dare I say it?) love these two little sandshitters, apparently I'm a bad person because I still refer to them as "pets." (Seriously. Click and read the article. It's amazing.)
So, that's it, then. The nanny-state mentality of humanity has gone beyond the bounds of child-rearing and begun festering in our animal companion relationships? Perfect.
Look, before we get too deep into this, let's get a few things straight. I'm not an animal abuser. I'm not an animal hater. I'm a fan of all (most) creatures, bright and beautiful, great and small. My respect, awe and campaigning for the rights of spiders is well documented.
And yes, I have resorted to physical manhandling of my animal companions.
Before you get all reactionary - relax, it's cool. Dr. Drew claims that we're allowed to use incidental physical violence on our kids if it's to protect their lives. And I think that carries over to pets. So when one of the cats I reside with decides to try and bolt for the open door, you're damn straight I'm gonna clamp down on them, grabbing whatever I can (scruff of neck, haunches, even their precious tail) to keep them from getting outside. Lesser of all evils, here, kids. If I need to cause a little tail strain on one of the cats to prevent them from running out into the street and getting creamed by a car, then I'm a tugging that tail. (Euphemism not intended). And what do I get for saving the cat's life? A scratched up hand and a cat that won't come near me for a few hours. Awesome. Next time an EMT save your life, try that. Claw at his hands and then run away from him. The press will be very kind to you, I promise.
And don't gimme any of that horseshit about "what was the door doing open, anyway?" F#$% you. You weren't there. I NEEDED that pizza.
All right, irrelevant outrage aside, let's get back to the relationship with our pets/animal companions.
These two cats do not perceive me as Master or Owner. They barely perceive me as another living being. To them, I am but a tool. When they want scritchings or help up onto a high shelf, they come to me. I have the prehensile hands that can operate the mysterious venetian blinds that let the sunlight in. I can operate the hairbrush (note - MY hairbrush). I am the giant beast that makes the feathery stringly cat-toy flip around the living room. And, recently, I have become the provider of super-stinky socks, pants, and other unmentionable clothings suitable for smearing one's feline face all over. It's kinda disturbing watching a cat rub its face all over your workout underwear. (All right, so I mentioned it. Sue me).
They don't sit in my lap. They don't snuggle with me when I sleep. Hell, they rarely even purr when I give them their demanded scritchings. Because I am a non entity. I am not a part of their pack, or their pod, or whatever the hell you call a group of cats. (INTERNET RESEARCH - a group of cats (not kittens) is called a Clowder. A Clowder of Cats. Sweet dear jesus living in this world is irritating).
So knowing how the cats treat and perceive me, I'm supposed to adjust my mental paradigm so as not to be cruel to THEM? All right, I think I can get on board with this.
But I'm going a different direction. Instead of referring to my 'pets' as animal companions, I will now refer to ALL my companions, human and animal, as my 'pets.' Thus, I am a pet as well. Your pet. And I'm going to start acting accordingly. Here's what you can expect having me as your 'pet':
I will greet you with a healthy ass-sniffing. Or perhaps simply by rubbing my body all over your shin. If there's anything about you that I find suspect, I'm going to yell at you, then run and hide.
- When you're not home, I'm going to sleep in your bed. And you'll know it, too, because I plan on exfoliating and plucking excess hair off my body and leaving it all over your pillow.
- When I'm hungry, I will tell you. Loudly.
- If we go out to dinner, and a waiter tries to take my food or drink before I've licked the plate CLEAN, I'm biting their fucking hand.
- When we go out to dinner, after I finish my food, I will do everything in my power to eat your food. (Waitasecond. I already do that. Sweet! I'm learning!)
- PISS DENOTES OWNERSHIP. If I like it, I'm peeing on it. If I piss on it, it's mine.
- At any time of my choosing, I will deem you unfit for my company, and I will ignore the hell out of you. And then when I decide I want to hang out with you again, you'd better pay attention to me or I'll yell at you. Loudly.
- Your child's sandbox just became my toilet. Deal with it.
- When visiting you in your home, if I decide I need to relieve myself, you will need to come hang out with me outside while I do my business. If you don't come outside with me, I'm shitting in your house. (*Note - if I piss in your house, see PISS DENOTES OWNERSHIP clause above).
- Speaking of shit, I will start eating it. And I will kiss you right after I eat it.
- Also speaking of shit, if you don't talk to me for several days, I'm shitting in your fucking shoes.
And if you ever do any of these things to me, I'm gonna smack you right in your face with a rolled up newspaper.
Well, I sure feel better. I think this new outlook on our relationship is going to be healthy and long-lasting. See? Political Correctness CAN make the world a better place.
