There are cats in the neighborhood where I live. And I am quite certain if they weren’t busy trying to West Side Story each other for turf possession, they would be trying to kill me.
I will probably make a few enemies with this post, all of them cat folk. But I will not apologize for my dislike of felines. You may leave me now. You can return tomorrow when I’m writing about other things.
Before anyone wrongly assumes I suffer from ailurophobia, an irrational fear of cats, I must say that a) I am not afraid of them; and b) if I were afraid of them, fear would not be an irrational emotion. I lump cats in with the other things I find distasteful but not necessarily frightening, specifically clowns, monkeys, and dolls.
Cats think they’re hot shit, like girls on prom court. You can tell by the way they slink around, never smile, ignore you when you call out to them, and poop on your lawn. (We are still talking about cats. High school girls only poop on your lawn metaphorically.) Cats, I am positive, believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are the Commanders of the Universe, and human beings are a hinderance to universal domination.
Which is why I think the two neighborhood cats want me dead. I am wise to their mission.
There are cat footprints that lead to my back door every morning. They are marked in the driveway by snow or by mud, one set coming, then going. Checking the deadbolt, I’m sure, and then reporting back to the others.
While I respect their tenacity, I know there are plenty of reasons cats will never succeed in their quest for the annihilation of humankind. They lack opposable thumbs, for one, and they have become dependent upon humans for expensive, wet cat food. They are made weak by catnip and poles with feathers on one end. They also seem prone to infighting and loud public sexual exploits, and if those things can bring down Republican senators, they certainly won’t fare well for cats.
A cat will lure a person in with its silky fur, but once it has been stroked it will only grant that person approximately 4 seconds before it scratches and bites. This is, of course, an attempt to control and dominate. A cat will rub against a person’s legs, and while that may seem like an innocent plea for affection, it is actually an attempt to cause a fall in which the temple is struck and death becomes imminent. A cat will drop a mouse at your door, and if it had said opposable thumbs, it would also leave a note that reads, “You’re next.”
So I will continue locking the deadbolt each night, and will avoid all contact with the glowing green eyes that peer through my French doors. If you don’t hear from me again after this post, please come armed with weapons of cat destruction, otherwise known as laser pointers and spray bottles.