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“Not Me!”

Cats have another quality I find admirable: blamelessness. When a cat makes a mistake, he doesn’t accept responsibility or show embarrassment. If he does something really stupid, like jumping onto a table and landing in four separate coffee cups, somehow he passes the whole thing off as routine. Dogs aren’t like that. If a dog knocks over a lamp, you can tell who did it by looking at the dog; he acts guilty and ashamed. Not the cat. When a cat breaks something, he simply moves along to the next activity.

“What’s that? The lamp? Not me! Fuck that, I’m a cat! Something broken? Ask the dog.”

“I Meant That!”

A cat can make any mistake appear intentional. Have you ever seen a cat race across a room and crash into a glass door? It doesn’t faze him at all.

WHIZZZ! SPLAT!!

“I meant that! I actually meant that. That’s exactly what I was trying to do.”

Then he limps behind the couch, holding his head:

“Oh, Jesus! Fuckin’ me-ooow! Goddamn fuckin’ me-ooooooow!”

Your cat is much too proud to let you see him suffer. But if you look behind the couch, you’ll see him recuperating from a domestic mishap.

“Hi. Tried to jump from the sofa to the window. Didn’t make it. Tore a ligament. Got milk?”

Rub Me Tender

Cats are very tactile; they love to rub against your leg. If you own a cat, and you have a leg, you’ve got a happy cat.

“Oh boy, oh boy! I’m rubbing against his leg! How I love his leg!”

If you have two legs, you’ve got yourself a party.

“Oh boy, oh boy, two legs! Now I can do the figure eight.”

They love to do the figure eight: around one leg, in between, and then around the other.

“Oh boy, oh boy. I’m doing the figure eight.”

He’ll rub against your legs even if you’re not there yet. You might be twenty feet down the hall. As soon as he sees you coming he starts walking sideways. He doesn’t want to miss a shot at your legs.

“Oh boy, oh boy! Here he comes! Soon I’ll be doing the figure eight.”

His Ass Is Yours

Cats are so tactile you don’t even have to do the petting. All you need is to put your hand somewhere near him, and he’ll lean into you and do all the work. They love to push back.

Then there’s the ass trick. Did you ever stroke a cat who’s lying absolutely flat, and before you’ve run your hand halfway down his back, his ass is sticking way up in the air? As if you pressed an “ass button” or something?

“Isn’t he a cute little . . . holy shit! How did he do that?”

Or sometimes if he’s on the bed with you he’ll climb onto your chest and stick his ass right in your face:

“Hey, here’s my ass! Check my ass, Daddy! Get a nice, clean look at my ass!”

And then while he’s showing you his ass, he starts that kneading thing with his paws; like he’s playin’ the piano. God, I hate that.

“Get him offa me! Jesus, I hate that! I don’t even know what it is, and I hate that. It’s as if he got hold of some bad drugs. What is that?”

“It’s an instinctive nursing behavior, honey. He misses his mommy.”

“You always say that. You said that about the mailman.”

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Fido Doesn’t Care

Dogs have no priorities or schedules. You rarely see a dog with a wristwatch. Most things they do they will do anywhere, at any time. Except for the things you teach them not to do:

“Laszlo! Don’t ever do that again. If you do I’ll beat the shit out of you!”