An Admission…

I’m a cat guy. I’ve got two of the precious little bastards. I love them both, though not equally. Our oldest cat is a Blue Russian crossed with a Ragdoll and his name is Ringo. That cat and I have a love-hate relationship going on. I love/hate him, he mainly hates me. This dynamic was established early on, maybe even from day one. Ringo loves my wife, and in my opinion has a crush on her. I’m not convinced it isn’t sexually motivated either. We got him spayed as a kitten but I see the way he looks at her. I’m not sure if Ringo has a dick. His fur is long, particularly in the groinal region and I’ve never seen it. I’m convinced it’s just a void that he pees out of. He is basically my wife’s shadow. If I go away he sleeps on my side of the bed. It’s like he’s pretending he’s the husband. I know his tricks.

The other cat is a Ragdoll that we named Waffle. We bought her for my daughter’s fourth birthday. She’s very cute and she meows a lot, but we don’t mind. You can pick up Waffle and give her a hug and she generally just waits for it to be over. Ringo, on the other hand, has been known to get his claws out if you pick up at the wrong time. Moody bastard.

So I’m a cat guy by default. They’re lower maintenance than a dog, and they provide plenty of entertainment. I like dogs too. You really can be both. You don’t have to pick sides.

Cat ownership as a male is generally viewed as somehow less masculine than the norm. But I say fuck the norm. If someone needs to own a Pitbull to feel more like a man, I feel sorry for them. I can be manly and own cats.

My biggest hero was a noted cat lover. Henry Charles Bukowski.