I got cats. Two of them.
I got cats because I wanted something living in my house besides the spiders so that, when I hear creepy night sounds, I can convince myself it is the friendly living thing and not the serial killer living in the Harry Potter cupboard under my porch.
I really enjoy living things, but I have trouble keeping them living. I killed a cactus once. Even so, a few years ago I decided that I could handle a dog.
I miss that guy.
...no, I didn't kill him. He just didn't belong with me anymore. Hey, come on, he left me! He left me more than 20 times last year! Finally I got the message: my dog didn't love me anymore, so he went to live with someone else and I listened to Adele.
Listen, I'm not hating on dogs, they're sweet and lovable and loyal to a fault. I understand that our twisted ego prefers the constant adulations of a subservient species to a mutually satisfying cohabitation that you'll find with a cat. But to be honest my sweet chocolate lab turned into a needy and, bless him, slightly dimwitted boyfriend (which is when I began to realize how much dogs have in common with insecure, emotionally abused humans). I discovered that I was not providing the social and emotional support that he needed to keep him from chewing holes in my front door.
So I got cats.
I brushed off the cat-lady references with a smile and acknowledged that, yes, cats are snooty, pretentious, hairballing, shedding inconveniences who will never love you like a dog and I assured everyone that I was never going to become the lonely spinster who makes creepy crafts or thinks her cats are little people.
But dang if I'm not falling in love with these girls. But not this much...