How Can You Not Be a Cat Person?

It seems that there really are cat people and dog people. Most of my friends are dog people. Some of them will freeze if a cat gets too close. I always want to laugh until I remember how I stiffen at the sight of a large hound approaching. I will stop to pet a cute, small breed puppy, if it’s well behaved. 
It’s true, dogs are loyal to their owners; they can sniff out drugs. They do search and rescue and can be trained to assist the handicapped.  I had one dog that I attached to – a small Yorkie about the size of my cat, Hermione. Yeah, dogs have their place. But cats . . . they are simply fascinating!
Hermione is currently stretching her body three times its normal length, looking skinny in those five seconds and giving a morning yawn that should permanently separate her jaw. She just turned seven and is a black and white plain old American breed cat. She sat in the palm of my hand when I was coerced by a colleague at work to bring her home. I’ve always been a sucker for the runt, the under dog, the last one left.
            Sure dogs will retrieve a stick but watching Hermione stalk, then leap, then run from one end of the room to the other chasing the small red dot of a laser pointer is pretty darned entertaining.
They say dogs are smarter, have larger brains. I’m not convinced. They seem to always pick on dogs much bigger than they are and will even go after a cat which I know from experience is pretty dumb. A cat can claw out a dog’s eye in a quick second. Even I don’t mess with Hermione and I’m a hundred times her size. Sharp teeth and claws can leave your arm pretty scarred if you make her angry.
            Talk about entertaining. Just now she returned from her breakfast and stood in her Egyptian pose – front paws completely perpendicular, head erect, looking regal. Two seconds later she is racing full speed in circles —  around the room, on the bed, into the bath and her she comes to the finish line – back claws catching carpet, she lunges down the hall into the living room! She scores! Ok, — too much hockey lately.
She stretches out on the countertop as I get my cereal, turns over and pushes her neck toward me so I will stroke her from chin to tummy. And no, she is not allowed on the counters. When she’s ready to eat, the bowl better be full. She will not stop her mewling until it is filled – it is silly to try to ignore her. She’s learned how to turn on the kitchen faucet to get a drink by wetting her right paw and licking.
And seriously, is there anything funnier than bending down to fold and put away a shopping bag, only to find it’s too heavy to lift? Or what about putting new sheets on the bed and later finding a huge lump underneath?
            When I cry, she puts her cool nose on my cheek and licks away the tears. If I’m upset she curls beside me nudging so close she seems to weigh fifty pounds. When I pack my suitcase she circles it, looks at me, and stalks from the room with disdain.

Yes, I’m definitely a cat person. What gave me away? How can anyone NOT be??

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