kitties is it satan’s

kitties

is it satan’s spawn
even if it has whiskers
and mews quietly?

I’m just gonna lay it all out and say: I hate cats. I’ve always hated cats. Well, maybe not always. Perhaps, in my childhood, circa 2 years old, I liked little kitties. But then I turned three. My dad took me for a walk. I remember a black cat walking along the sidewalk next to us. The cat looked at me… SMILED… and then leapt vertically from a completely still position to scratch my forearm. That’s right. Straight up in the air… a good five feet at least. (I was being held my dad, who’s no shorty). Screaming and bleeding, we ran home as we were chased by the evil, vertical-jumping satan cat.

That’s when I started hating cats.

As I got older, I had brief moments of thinking I might start liking cats but then one of the nasty critters would attack me – always unprovoked – and I would remain a proud cat hater.

So here’s the problem. The hubby has a client who has a cat who had about 8 million kittens, blah blah blah. It’s the same old story you always hear. And the kittens, I’m sure, are adorable little fur balls that the wee one would love to torture and get cat scratch fever from. But I haven’t seen the kittens yet, so my heart is still somewhat stony.

Or it was until I watched the news. Some effing psycho nutjob has been throwing kittens OUT OF HIS MOVING CAR onto the highway. Something like FOURTEEN of them so far.

Now I fully admit to hating cats, but this is just too much.

One of the kittens survived the torture and the news guys showed it, still shaking, in the corner of its cage at the spca. Its little face was kind of mangled, but the spca lady said it would be just fine, not counting the understandable post-traumatic stress it will have for freaking ever.

When I saw that little kitty, my heart broke. It shattered. So now, because of that poor traumatized kitty, I have this feeling that it’s my duty to take a kitten into my home. Otherwise, it’s going to the shelter where it may be adopted by some idiot who may throw it out of his car onto the highway. (Though I imagine the idiot who’s doing that wouldn’t actually pay money to adopt a kitten to kill.)

But, see, I hate cats. Always have. I can’t have a cat in my house. It’d be like having a republican in my house. Or a libertarian.

Would the kitty and I be able to set aside our (most likely) mutual dislike to form a bond like the one other people have with felines? Would the kitty agree not to infect my family members and dog with weird cat diseases? Would I be able to name the kitty something cool like “Fang” or “Roberta?”

Can it be that the news story made my two-sizes too small heart grow three sizes bigger?

But I can’t save all the kitties in Whoville. Just one. And I’m still not sure it’s a good idea.

-sigh-

One cat. And a little scratching post. And some scoopy litter that my hubby will have to change. Maybe.

Or I could just make a donation to the SPCA and have that be that.

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