I like cats better than dogs. Cats are assholes. And lazy. And really fun to torture. You can put duct tape on their front legs and watch them do the-floor-is-hot dance, or you can apply peanut butter to their nose and watch them freak out in hopes of cleaning it off. My favorite is Cat in a Bag. I used to put my Shop Kitty in a laundry bag, kind of gently swing it back and forth and threaten the kitty that I was going to throw him in the bottom of the river. All the while singing a little tune I made up called "cat in a bag at the bottom of the river." It's a Whaley Family classic now.
It's not fair that people can say they hate cats but you're hard pressed to find the asshole who's man enough to say she hates dogs. Well... I don't care for dogs. Inside dogs that is. Where I'm from, a dog lives, breaths, sleeps, eats and stays outside. No questions asked. If you see the dog inside the house, you gasp in horror and run and hide so you don't get blamed for it. And I didn't know that people physically paid money for mutts until I moved to Austin. I overheard someone say they wanted a wienerschnitzel or some such half breed as that and that they were willing to pay, oh, I don't know, $500 bucks for this pooch.
Me: Meeehhhhrrrr? Errrr, heeeeh?!? A-say a-say, whaaaaa? You want to PAY MONEY for that dog? Five hundred big ones? For that stupid little dog? I don't understand.
And I still don't. If you want a new dog in the country, you go over to your friend's house and ask when their dog is having puppies. But mostly you just kind of come into a dog in the country. People love dumping animals in the country, so you just go outside and there's probably a dog already there and then, poof, you have a new pet. And you probably just will call him Puppy or Dog or something really clever like that.
And when the dog gets ill, you don't take it to the vet to pay him (!?) to put the thing down, you call your Cousin Jeff to come out and shoot the dog and put him out of his misery, as well as save you from spending hundreds of dollars in bills ON A DOG.
When I was a young pup myself, we had this family dog that was pretty much the end all be all of canines. He was a black lab, beautiful, smart, and really something. Pa taught the dog how to track deer that had been shot out in the woods and retrieve them if they had been wounded and lost, saving the deer from dying a slow and miserable death all the while pleasing the hunter with the finding of his kill. Dad would come home looking like he had been attacked by a bear because Tracker would pull him through briars and fences and he had to keep ahold of the leash lest he lose Tracker and the deer. Tracker found many a deer out in Hamilton County. He also got shot accidentally in the neck once, helped us raise four raccoons and would sit in the garage and listen to Dad as he worked. Raddest dog ever.
And then Tracker got sick and started seizing one morning, and as upset as we all were, Dad called his sister's husband to come over and shoot our family dog. My sister, mother and I waited in the house when we heard the shot, me crying over my cereal bowl.
I don't think I started this blog with intentions of chastising anyone with dogs, or anyone who pays any given amount for the purchase or health of their dog, it just kind of spun out of control. Dogs are sometimes okay and you can do with them what you please. As long as your dog doesn't lick my face. Their butt-licking tongues on human faces? You have got to be kidding me.
The real point is that I love torturing cats. Torture is a harsh word. Teasing cats for my enjoyment is more like it. Right before this blog, my roommate's cat wanted outside and I knew she wanted out, but instead of letting her out, I put a blanket on top of her and then opened the door. She could smell the rain and out of doors just a few steps in front of her, but she couldn't reach it (what with the blanket over her). And I laughed. Out loud. For a good two minutes. By myself.
See? Cats are assholes. Love 'em.
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