My Soft Spot for Cats
There was a time when I didn’t consider myself a cat person. Up until my mid-20s, I was a dog guy through and through. Now, maybe 65-35. I guess people change.
My first cat was a feral kitten I found inside a rusted-out ticket booth near Shea Stadium. In a moment of weakness, my heart overruled my brain and I was the proud owner of Shea the cat.
Shea never fully acclimated to indoor life but slowly became affectionate and was pretty smart. My old roommate had a free-range parakeet and the cat learned quickly that eating “Blubie” would not be tolerated. It got to the point where Blubie could land on her head, which was quite impressive.
My third-floor apartment was unbelievably close to a flat-roofed warehouse and Shea could jump roof-to-roof. The roof was made of gravel and, fortunate for my single, irresponsible self, became Shea’s 100-by-50-foot litter box.
Shea was joined a few years later by Coconut, who was a dog disguised as a cat. He came when you called, loved belly rubs, and never figured out the whole “land on your feet” thing. Best cat ever!
These days we have two cats to go along with our two dogs. Cillian is kind of a jerk and is occasionally mean to the pups, but he’s my wife’s best friend (me included) and literally hugs her around the neck.
Moe is a laid back, super-chill dude who may have once been an outdoor cat, but I think he’s adapted well to his lush indoor life. We got Cillian as a kitten and Moe came to us as a mid-life adult. With the exception of Cillian’s occasional swat on the nose of our very large dogs, all animals do fine together (frankly, better than the humans!).
If you’re on the fence about bringing a cat into your world, I hope this pushes you over. If a dyed-in-the-wool dog dude like me can find 35 percent cat in his heart, you can too.
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