Anti-Pets

I was having this conversation the other day, when I finally realized and admitted that I don’t really like pets, and never have.  Kind of cold, isn’t it?  Countless numbers of sock hamsters and flushed goldfish mark my youth of destruction due to apathy, and I don’t believe anything has changed.

I would like to think that I am a dog person, but as it turns out, I’m not.  I don’t really like dogs.  But I do like imaginary dogs.  I like them a whole lot.  In fact, my dog in my mind is my perfect companion.  Rides alongside me in my Pathfinder.  A pensive fellow with a dazzling intellect.  Simply watches keenly as other dogs jealously bark at him trying to throw him off his game, but he doesn’t bite.  He is calm, cool, and collected until there is a real call for action.  Like surfing.  Not for him, though.  I’m not one of those jackasses who needs to show that shit off by throwing pooch on a board as a novelty act.  My dog waits on the shore, fully engaged in the buddy system.  He runs laterally as I make my way down the shore, then wags his tail as he runs up to greet me as I exit the water.  He’s a hell of a dog.  And he doesn’t shit by the way.  I don’t mind feeding him.  In fact, it’s my pleasure to feed him as a gracious thank you for his friendship.  But shitting, he understands that I don’t enjoy that aspect so he decided that he doesn’t either.

So, not a real dog fan, I’m sad to confess.  But what about a cat?  If not one, then the other?

Oh no.  A big no to the cat.  Whereas I do appreciate the independence of the cat in contrast to the typical ever-pleasing nature of the dog…

Hold on, I should cover this personality trait in most dogs before skinning the cat.  What is so wonderful about all encompassing love, that most all dogs seem to possess for their owner?  I can think of no worse thing that coming home to a creature that is madly in love with you and expresses that without question.  It’s tough enough when your girlfriend/wife possess those same traits.  I don’t want to be the center of anyone or thing’s universe.  Find your own orbit you little shit (I say to dog not girlfriend.  To girlfriend I say, ‘better pastures’.)

So cat, I appreciate that they generally have their own life and are very aware of their place in the relationship.  They seem to be aware that they were purchased as a human filler for their affection.  They may not be wild about it but they get two solid meals a day without question.  Perhaps it’s like a desk job for a cat.  A necessary evil where many of their bosses aren’t too bad and will go in for a little cuddle now and then.

Thus, a cat embarrassingly seems like a better fit, eh?  Fortunately, no.  I fucking hate cats.  Don’t mind other people’s cats really, but what is the point?  Why not just grab a stuffed animal if you need to snuggle something?  Like imaginary dog, they don’t shit either.

But cat’s, real cats, shit up a fucking storm.  And yeah, while they do it in a box, they still do it indoors, and their shit do in fact stink.  Plus they do that little creepy Parkinson’s like shake with their paw after they bury away their work.

And if that weren’t bad enough, too many of them complain come food time.  Grab the can-opener.

Meow.  Meow.  Meow.  Meow.  Meow…

Quiet!

Meow.  Meow.  Meow.  Meow…

Shut the fuck up!  I’ve fucking fed you every day, twice a day for the past eight years.  You know it’s fucking coming so shut up.

Meow.  Meow…

Have I ever started opening a can of cat food and then stopped?  Huh?  

Meow.  Meow.  Meow.  Meow.

Fuck!  Here!

———–

No to cats.  Sadly, no to dogs.  Imaginary dog…absolutely.  Imaginary cat?  Please.  Maybe I should start assessing whether I would actually want kids.  Now would be the time.  Sock child might get me in trouble.

BN


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