Let me preface this column by saying that I’m a proud, card-carrying dog lover. If I see a dog on the street, especially in Madison, I will accost its owner until he or she lets me pet it. I’ve been known to throw social propriety to the wayside when I see a canine, especially one that is particularly worthy of high affect and baby goo-goo talk. I have a framed picture of my dog by my bed. Now that we have that settled:
Last fall, when my now-roommates told me they were planning to get cats this fall, I shrugged and offered my indifferent approval. I thought to myself, why not? Cats kinda suck… but only kinda.
I guess I should explain my disinclination toward cats is rooted in childhood experiences featuring feline rejection and hostility. It’s not like I was always opposed to cats though. In fact, “AristoCats” was number seven on my list of favorite animated Disney movies about domesticated animals. I was hardened by a number of cat-astrophic experiences (hope you like cat puns, readers, because there’s more where that came from).
I spent numerous Thanksgivings pulling on my cousins’ cat’s tail, wondering why it wouldn’t stay around long enough for me to pet. It’s probably because I was yanking its tail, but still, I was pissed. I also have three scars on my hand from a traumatic birthday party when my friend’s cat actively opposed joining me on the slip-n-slide. Needless to say, I am not a cat advocate—not an advo-cat, if you will.
Nevertheless, time had passed and my emotional and physical scars were fading. I thought to myself, Jenna, you’re stronger than this. Don’t let those mangy furballs dictate your decisions. This is college, try something new. YOLO. So while other juniors were out learning how to sail, getting internships and drinking Wando’s fish bowls alone, I was going to try my hand at living with cats. Feeling brave, I signed the lease with four other girls and two cats. Well not the cats, as they lack opposable thumbs.
Fast forward to move-in day. I was pleasantly surprised to learn the cats were, in fact, kittens—two adorable, soft, loving kittens. Or so I thought. You know how they say every relationship has its honeymoon period? Well, the Jenna-kittens (or as I would later call them, shittens) honeymoon lasted about a day and a half.
Don’t get me wrong, that day and a half was pure magic. We frolicked, napped and danced together. They even took a liking to my shoulders and (when I forcefully kept them there) would perch on them like my own little parrot-cats. It was heaven.
Then things changed. The two kittens—Mogubichu (“Bichu” for short) and Rue-Samba-Fuck (I simply call her “Fuck” because I’m not sure what her actual name is and because I love unnecessary expletives)—made themselves comfortable. And by this I mean they essentially took over our apartment, for better or for worse.
For better, they’ll snuggle up on your chest while you’re watching television and purr softly. For worse, they’ll snuggle up on your laptop while you’re sending an important mass email and you’ll prematurely send it with the subject “D sdvS df KJSEVcv –dfb dfv38bcv0 qero2v4 vos7.”
For better, they’ll greet you at the front door when you come home from a stressful class. For worse, they’ll greet you in the bathroom and scare the shit out of you when you didn’t expect a furry creature to be drinking from the toilet bowl.
For better, they’ll play catch with their squeaky toys. For worse, they’ll play hide-under-the-ottoman-and-see-how-many-toes-they-can-claw-and-make-bleed.
All that said, I can’t help but have a soft place in my heart for these little shittens. I genuinely care about them. I mean, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t caught myself asking them how their day was. Some may call it schizophrenia, I call it love. Although my dog Sparky is still No. 1 (expect a column on that later, my dedicated readers), for better and for worse, until lease do us part, these cats and I are enjoying cat-rimonial bliss.
Alright sorry, that was especially bad. I just can’t figure out the purrfect way to end this… I guess the cat’s got my tongue… and laptop… and toes.
Do you dislike cats? Do you dislike cat puns even more? Email Jenna at jbushnell@wisc.edu with your purrferences.
