I hated cats (un­til I got some)

De­spite all the scratches, some­how it’s worth it.

The Coast - Pets Halifax - - Cat Training - BY MAG­GIE RAHR

Ifuck­ing hate cats. I’ve been sus­pi­cious of them as long as I can re­mem­ber. What other crea­ture bores into you—with not only con­tempt, but sat­is­fac­tion—as it licks its own junk? What other an­i­mal slinks its warm lit­tle body up against you, only to plunge its curl­ing blades into your un­sus­pect­ing flesh the minute you re­lax?

A friend (who fears and de­spises cats) once told me it’s as if they can smell her anx­i­ety, sin­gling out her among cat lovers and at­tack­ing with per­sis­tent, mer­ci­less panache. Specif­i­cally, she once at­tended her boyfriend’s fam­ily re­union and within min­utes the fam­ily cat had launched it­self—claws out—onto her FACE. So yes. I’ve said it. Fuck cats. Now that we’ve cleared this mat­ter up, there’s some­thing else I must ad­dress. I’ve re­cently be­come the owner of two tiny kit­tens. You can imag­ine my con­fu­sion.

They are brother and sis­ter (we think) and at about 13 weeks of age, have de­vel­oped a rou­tine of fran­ti­cally marathon rac­ing af­ter each other on the bed at about 5am, each morn­ing.

A few weeks back, we were at a farm, when our five-year-old pointed to two lit­tle cats, and an­nounced: “That’s them.”

One, sleek and black with big green eyes, the other a pale or­ange with eyes of milky blue and feet that looked like a car­toon im­age of paws. They were all tan­gled up in each other, right in the mid­dle of a mess of 10 other kit­tens. “That’s them,” our son said again. He’d been talk­ing about the two cats we’d have some day for months. He even had names for them. Each time he brought it up I was more puz­zled, prob­a­bly look­ing like a slightly fe­male ver­sion of Rod­ney Danger­field with a dumb ‘Huh?!’ face on. Not only did I hate cats, SO DID HE.

But I was pow­er­less against him, and his brother’s in­sis­tence, that these were in fact, “our” cats. In the end, we took them home.

Even now as I type this one of the lit­tle pricks is pro­ject­ing it­self onto my back and scal­ing my body like one of those lithe boast­ful fuck­ers at Seven Bays on the climbing wall.

What the hell is hap­pen­ing to me? I’m not even both­ered. I can’t ex­plain it but some­how, de­spite all the fuck­ery, it’s worth it. You should prob­a­bly get a cat.

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