Animal House

I have heard it said that there are two kinds of people in the world: dog people and cat people.  I suppose, in a way this is true, but I would posit that there is actually a third category which does not normally get much attention.  There are dog people, cat people, and “why the hell are all these animals in my house” people.

It boggles my mind how the practice of allowing live, wild animals to wander unfettered inside a person’s home ever came into being.  And it makes me wonder who the first person was to have some kind of furred creature crawl into his house and then decide that not only was he not going to chase it away, but he would go ahead and start feeding it.

Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t hate animals.  I simply don’t understand the attraction of living with them.

I actually own a dog and a couple of cats, but having them in the house with me was not originally my idea.  They just seemed to appear without me having any say in the matter.  One day I’m a happy person with the full run of the house, the next day I’m a pet owner.

I have learned to tolerate them, and they in return allow me to remain in their presence (although I appear to be on shaky ground with one of the cats).  However, they are a lot of work to take care of and they seem to offer very little in return for all of the effort expended on them.  They require constant attention.  You have to clean up after them, feed them, exercise them, and, on rare occasions, scrape them off the road because they were too stupid to move out of the way of a moving car.  (Just to clarify, it was not my car.)

They are like children; all self-centered neediness and no gratitude.  In addition, animals will never grow up and move out of the house.  So … yeah, like I said: they are like children.

When you bring a dog indoors, it will wander the house aimlessly, scratching itself and drooling wherever it goes.  Occasionally it will drink out of the toilet and rummage through the garbage, eating anything it finds.  I fail to see the difference between adopting a dog and inviting a homeless person to stay with you.

And cats aren’t any better.  They will pee on the walls and carpet to mark their territory.  They dig through the litter box, pushing their feces around for the fun of it, then decide this would be a good time to take a stroll on the kitchen counter.  And when they are feeling ignored, they will rip up the furniture and throw up on the carpets.  Again, these are all services that any roadside transient would be happy to provide for a roof over his head and a steady supply of kibble.

And despite all we do for our animals, we must never forget that they are not our friends.  The only reason they stay around is because we give them stuff.  Hell, if I strolled into a neighbor’s house and they told me that they would feed me and take care of me for the rest of my life and all I had to do was poop in a box, I would never leave either.

I have heard people argue that dogs give unconditional love.  I must disagree on this assumption.  As a test, I suggest you put your dog in the back yard and stop feeding it.  Next, leave the gate open and I bet you will find out just how much your pet loves you.  My guess is Fido will be off looking for a new family before you can finish the sentence, “Where’d he go?”

But, I suppose the thing that bothers me the most about having pets in the house is the simple certainty that when I die, if my body is not found immediately, the animals are going to eat me.

I admit that dogs will at least wait until the body is cold before they dig in.  They will hang out for a while just to see if you get back up and put more doggy chow in their bowl.  But, if too much time goes by, there will come a point that “the guy who feeds me” becomes “the guy I ate.”

Cats don’t offer the same grace period.  As soon as a person stops moving, they are already circling, licking their chops.  I am convinced that if they thought they could get away with it they would just decide one day to pounce on their owners like a leopard on a wildebeest.

I have woken up in the morning on more than one occasion and found my cat sitting on the edge of the bed staring at me.  When I sit up, I swear that there is a look of disappointment in her eyes.  Then, she just jumps off the bed and saunters over to her food bowl as if to say, “Okay, I can wait one more day.”

I don’t like the fact that she is as aware of the inevitable outcome as I am.  She doesn’t even care enough about my feelings to pretend to feel bad about it.  Although, I sort of have to admire her confidence.

Does that make me a cat person?