Why I Could Never Date a Guy Who’s Into Cats

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Actual quotes from experts (and by experts, I mean humans who don’t like cats) about cats:

  • “Cats are garbage, a waste of precious resources breathing up air that dogs could be breathing.”
  • “I am seriously freaked out by cat tongues and pretty sure they are whats holding me back from liking cats in general. Aside from the fact that you know, they aren’t dogs.”
  • “Nope!”

Now before you get your fur spiked up, some of my best friends are “cat people.” Hell, one of them dresses them up like miniature, furry American Girl dolls and that’s totally okay. I do not have a problem with people who love cats, but after dating a few self-professed “cat men,” I simply cannot do it any longer. If you wear turtlenecks, get a little too upset about loud pop music and are as neurotic and terrifying as your pet of choice, it’s just not gonna work out.

You see, cats are soulless, gargoyle-like hell spawn that would eat your body if you died in your apartment without giving it a second thought. Have a glass of water on your desk? Cool! Cats will knock that onto your computer for you. Have a favorite sweater you like to wear? Great! They will rip that shit apart with their demon-claws. Have dreams and goals in your life? Perfect! Cats will single-handedly ruin them all and lay on top of the emotional wreckage, licking themselves and yawning. Now before you say, “That’s not true. I have a kitty that I love very much,” listen to my tale.

One night when I was seven, a mammoth figure bounded out of the woods, heaved itself onto our front doorstep, clawing viciously at our front-door screen and shrieking/gurgling like the end of days. “Cool, free cat!” was my family’s reaction. So my enemy was born.

After a few failed naming attempts we decided on “Freckles.” Sounds like a cutie little baby kitty, right? Wrong. When it was time to take Freckles to the vet, my mom would suit me up in a full snow suit, gloves and ski mask in a yearly Hunger Games-esque ritual sacrifice.

“Here Freckelth,” I would lisp, inching toward him in my snowsuit and age-appropriate bowl-cut, with a can of tuna in my pudgy hand. “Come on, betht friend!” I implored him, shaking the tuna-water near his face. In an instant, he would lunge desperately at my face, latching his claws into the fabric of my snowsuit and drawing innocent blood. “Freckelth nooooor!” I screamed, muffled by his dumpy body (still) attached to my face. To this day, I think I actually heard him laugh.

Since then I have been terrified of cats, with the exception of very small kittens. I’ve tried cat rehab and baby steps with my friends’ cats, but the idea of being with a cat daily is still panic inducing. So cat lovers, sadly we are not meant to be. But if you ever want to switch teams, I’ll be here, with these guys and open arms.