Cats are not Dogs
which should be obvious
To those cat-haters out there — I don’t know where you get your ideas from, but they don’t bear any relationship to reality.
Why do people expect cats to behave in the same way as dogs? If you want a dog, get a dog. A cat has the potential to be just as affectionate as any other animal, but you can’t simply sit back and expect it to happen. You have to get to know the cat — her likes and dislikes. You have to talk to her, find her cosy places to sleep, high spots for her to perch on, a variety of tasty foods for her to enjoy.
A dog, bless its heart, will try and love even the most unpleasant of owners. A cat won’t. If you treat her like an unwanted visitor, that’s what she’ll be. But if you spend time with her, twiddle a length of string for her to play with, stroke her, make her feel loved, she will love you back.
She’ll amuse you too. Cats sometimes get these crazy moods when they dash up and down the stairs for no apparent reason, tail askew, his eyes shining like two black marbles.
It’s on days like these when you can throw a screwed-up ball of paper and she will all but somersault in her eagerness to catch it — then pummel it to death with her back feet. She may even perform the legendary sideways leap, pretending that the paper ball has suddenly become menacing.
If you have never seen this, you have missed one of the most comical sights known to humankind.
Unaffectionate? Unlovable? Have you seen the adorable cat photos that abound on the internet?
No, my friend, I’m afraid the problem is not with the cat — it’s with you. I believe a slightly altered quote from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar says it well: ‘The fault, dear person, is not in the cat, but in yourselves, that you are underlings.’
Get a cat. Rescue him from a shelter. Love him, care for him, talk to him. He’ll come running to greet you when you get home from work, sit on your shoulder while you watch TV and sleep curled up round your legs in bed.
Pretty soon, you’ll wonder how you ever managed to live without one.
P.S. The love runs in families. This is a poem written by my 7-year-old grand-daughter. Spellings are her own:
The Magic of Cats
My cat is not an acrobat
she’s a black and white delite
and sometimes likes to bite
and Mum where’s her as a hat.
When she comes trotting down,
belly swinging near the ground
she’s a very welcome site.
