Why we can’t have therapy cats
As I watch more tragic headlines unfurl of people being traumatized, I’m noticing something more and more: therapy dogs are being brought in to help those wrestling with monstrous situations.
The image of these dogs providing comfort and support in the midst of such turmoil never fails to make me a little weepy. What a huge, but simple, thing to do.
And I am always reminded of why we shall never have therapy cats.
Therapy dogs are gentle, and if you hug them, they will lean into you and hug you back.
A cat either loves you or hates you. If they hate you, they will bite you; if they love you, they will show you their bum.
A therapy dog will respond to every signal a handler gives it. It will respond by sitting patiently, or lying down when so directed. A cat will only be interested in you if you have a fish in your pocket. It will respond by ripping open your pocket while standing on your groin with four paws that will feel like they are yielding 200 pounds of pressure per square inch. While wearing knives on
their feet.
A therapy dog is happy to let someone rub their tummy. In fact, I bet they love it. You could rub their tummy for an hour, providing anxiety relief to anyone who has ever seen how much a dog loves having its tummy rubbed. You can rub a cat’s tummy. Maybe just once, maybe for five minutes. Rubbing a cat’s belly is like stroking a grenade that has had the pin pulled. It’s gonna go off, you just don’t know when.
Therapy dogs intuitively know that somebody needs their warmth, their stability, their kindness. I have a cat who sits on the range hood in the dark and waits for me to come into the kitchen so he can jump on me. I need a therapy dog just to get over having a cat.
Therapy dogs instinctively know how to calmly lie next to someone who may just need their presence. They know someone who is upset or shaken often needs to be the one to reach out. Cats walk across your head because it is the shortest distance between the pillow and the nail file you left on your nightstand, which they need to chew in the middle of the night. Under the bed. If you ask a cat if it took your nail file, it will lie about it. While holding the nail file in its mouth.
Therapy dogs are capable of providing support for as many people as need it. They put their own needs on hold, knowing that providing unconditional love is a particularly high calling. If you are 10 minutes late getting dinner for a cat, she will pee on your bed to let you know she is not happy with the service of this hotel.
I once met a therapy dog and I swear, I stared deep into her huge brown eyes and felt the empathy and love that make them such an important part of the healing process. I once stared deep into my cat’s eyes, and he lunged at me, hissing, and asked why I was judging him.
When there is an emergency, therapy dogs will respond and ask nothing in return. When a cat senses there is an emergency at hand, it will stop everything and have a bath.
Therapy dogs make every person they spend time with feel special and loved. I once had a 14-year-old cat who would pretend she didn’t know me if I went away overnight.
I’m just going to tuck this little “Therapy Cat” vest in a drawer.