I Hate My Cat!

Cats are humans, according to humans. According to cats, cats are superhuman. 

I hate my cats, that's why I love them so much. I hate the way they never let me win. I hate the way they manipulate me no matter how hard I try to get the upper paw.  And that's another thing I hate their paws. How can something so soft and cute contain such items of lethal destruction?  I abhor the claws in the paws especially the four claws in the fore paws.  

When I pick up my King Cat, he always puts a size twelve paw gently on my nose with just enough claw exposed to remind me he is still in control. I hate that.

I hate the way this eight kilogram hairy dish-mop impersonator uses the can opener. He can open a can of cat food while sitting still and moving nothing. He stares. He doesn't blink. He just stares - at me next to his empty food bowl. He says nothing at the top of his voice. The can opener (that's me), mesmerised and hypnotised by the Manipulative Man Moggy mindlessly picks a can from the shelf, and slops the contents into his bowl. He thanks me profusely by doing nothing other than eating his food and walking off without a backwards glance.

I hate that cat.

Dust Collectors

Now, if you hate cats as much as I hate cats you are bound to have dust collectors. You must have at least four dozen pairs of cat-shaped salt and pepper shakers that you never use, a minimum of six cat calendars adorning your walls, none of which are set to the right month, and a minimum of eight hot water bottles covers in various ugly cat shapes. You will also have three unused cat-shaped tea pots and will eat your breakfast from a bowl marked Kitty.

You also don't qualify as a cat owner unless you have tumbleweeds of cat fur breezing down your hallway and your dry cleaner charges you a penalty fee for having to defuzz  your suits. You also need to have each item of your upholstered furniture adorned with the tattered markers of your cats claw sharpening efforts.

To qualify as a cat owner you must also conform to the following. When eating ice cream, you are never offended if your cat cleans the remains of the ice cream from your bowl before you have finished dessert.  You cannot sleep unless your lump of lard is ensconced across your feet, pinning your legs to the bed.

Only qualified cat owners have photos of their cat as a screen saver on their computer and their favourite cat photo as the background to their computer desktop, and only a qualified cat owner has their cat's name as their email address and some reference to their cat in the password to their email account and their internet banking facility (damn it - having made this public, that means I have to change my internet password now).  And lastly, a qualified cat owner is one where the manager of the local one-hour photo lab knows the name of your cat better than he knows your own name and he knows you have more photos of your cat than you do of your children.

Cat Owners Need Two Refrigerators

Cat owners don't have a refrigerator. They have two.

One refrigerator is just not big enough to house all of the cat fridge magnets that you have found and the one that has pride of place says Husband and Cat Missing - $1000 reward for return of Cat!

Bad Cat Behaviours

Some of my clients also hate their cats. 'Sabre' is a much hated cat. He has sprayed urine twice. Not a record you might think, but a tad annoying when both times have been in your mouth when you are snoring. He purrs, nicely, and he's forgiven.

'Tom' also has an unusual behaviour. He has an "affectionate" attachment to a Tickle Me Elmo teddy bear. When you tickle Elmo in the right spot, Elmo laughs and vibrates. The rest is left to your imagination but his owners even forgave him for practising his passion at 2am each morning. Tom has haunting green eyes - one affectionate squint and all is forgiven.

Of course we can't forget Cleo the Cloth-Eater. She has a little obsession that causes her to chew relentlessly on fabric items. Her owners claim the massive holes in their expensive jumpers are a new fashion craze and they don't bother buying bedspreads with tassels any longer. One cute mew is enough to banish punishment for her crimes.

Rasputin is also much hated. As his owners trot to the loo in the middle of the night he springs from under the couch and latches onto their bare legs and then, with all points of contact extended, slides down his owner's calf in the same manner that he slides down a tree-trunk.  Things are not so bad now that his Dad remembers to wear pyjama pants, as one night Rasputin jumped a bit too high and found a novel way to mimic Tarzan swinging from the vines. Me Tarzan - that Pain.

If you're not a cat owner, you won't understand the joys that cats bring. Their independence, their aloofness, their mastery of one-up-manship is a divine joy for us catophiles but the pinnacle of pleasure is when a cat melts into your arms, squints its eyes lovingly and purrs with a deep rumbling that melts away the day's stresses.

Move over Man-Cat, I'm coming to bed - if that's okay with you.

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