Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Johnny Cash.

I’ve noticed two things as of late.

1.  Dog people tend to speak TO their dogs.

2.  Cat people tend to speak FOR their cats.  Narrative-style.


The dog person:

“OH!  Who’s a good dog!  Oh yes, he’s just da best dog EVER oh yes he IS!  Who want to go for a WALK oh YES he DOES!  OH he’s just da handsomest boy ever!  Oh you like that scratch da butt ohhh yeeeeaaahhhhh that feels good huh you like dat dontcha!!”

(ok, fine.  Maybe that’s how I talk to dogs.  Whatever.  Moving on.)

And the latter school:

“Yes.  I’m a cat.  No, you may not pet me now.  In fact, you may not even gaze upon my magnificence just yet.  I shall let you know when it is time.  In fact, I would like to be fed.  That’s right.  And don’t you dare give me that noxious dry mess either – oh good god, is that beastly mongrel in my litter box again?  What a lemming.  I’m surrounded by imbeciles.  Things will be so much more tolerable when the sixth extinction hits and your apelike masses of flesh are disintegrated and we inherit the earth…”

I think the dog in the (Pixar?  Disney?  Fuck if I know) movie “Up!” eloquently sums up my preference for dogs: “I just met you.  But I love you!”  I realize there’s a kind of sick desperation there.  It’s ok, I own it.

What I love about cats, if I could love anything about cats, is how their owners make excuses for their ass-hat behavior as if it were a personality trait.  Like it’s endearing somehow.

“Oh, Seviche does this thing where when I’m needing snuggles after a rough day I call her name and she glares at me, ya know, like she wishes the Korean mafia were slitting my jugular at that precise moment?  Yeah.  So then she turns on her heel and fluffs her tail in the air with a metaphorical, “Harrumph!” and struts off…Ohmigosh!  SOOO cute!  Sigh.  Cats are the best…”

It would be at this juncture where I would be duct-taping this useless, fluff-covered sack of innards to the carpet to give it ample time to ponder the err of its foul, smug, and curmudgeonly ways and to become accustomed to its station in life as a domestic servant and provider of love and affection, NOT as an object of idolatry and worship.  Really, the perpetuation of *that* particular nonsense must cease and desist.  I think even the Egyptians came to their senses on that one.

Voulez-voulez-vous j’ai rien.

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