A Mini Blog: Why I prefer my cat to your kids.

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Disclaimer: Do not be offended. Before you go calling me a crazy cat lady … I don’t actually prefer my pet to your mini-humans. I love kids.  However, there are a few things that I prefer about my cat.

Reason #1. Cats are self reliant

Sometimes we forget to feed our cat or give him water…. The most work about a cat is his litter box. This proved to be too much a chore for Jon and I so we bought the type litter that you can flush. Saves us a whole five steps to the outside trash. WIN!

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Your Child.

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My Cat.

 

Reason # 2. No Feelings.

One of the hardest things about growing up is getting made fun of because of your name. Having the last name Cooley, Megan Cootie was the worst. The other kids on the block would run away from me singing “Circle circle dot dot, now I got my Cootie shot”. Kids can be so mean..and apparently in my neighborhood not very creative.

When we got my cat we thought it was a girl and named him Lilly. It soon became very apparent HE was not a girl. So we changed his name to Mr. Lilly. Minimum effort. Minimum creativity.  No emotional melt-down. He is blissfully unaware of how shamed he should feel..

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Your Child’s melt-down.

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My blissfully unaware cat, Mr. Lilly.

 

Reason # 3 (and most important reason). My cat naps more than your child.

He’s the laziest creature on earth. Seriously, he’s so lethargic Jon and I think he has a medical condition.

 

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Your Child.

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My Cat.

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Your Child.

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My Cat.

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Your Child.

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My Cat.

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My Cat.

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My Cat.

 

There is one thing my cat does that your child does.

 

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Your Child

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My Cat.

 

 

 

 

 

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2 thoughts on “A Mini Blog: Why I prefer my cat to your kids.

  1. LOL….LOVE! Although it mildly concerns me that I will now have one of each. Perhaps I should reconsider which of the two will be my “favorite” child…

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  2. I once had a ginger rescue cat I named “Lucy”, as in Lucille Ball. I took her to the veterinarian for a check-up, shots, and to be spayed.

    The veterinarian technician came out to pick up Lucy to take her into the examination table. She asked me my new cat’s name. I told the her.

    She looked at the cat and replied, “Lucy is a neutered male!”

    Oh…!

    I yelled to the receptionist to change the name on the paperwork, based on my new knowledge. “What do you want to change it to?” Long pause. I was still working through “Lucy is a neutered male!”

    “Let’s call him ‘Louie’,” I sputtered, “As in ‘Louie Armstrong’, because Louie Armstrong was a cool cat, and so is my cat.” And the name served Louie well till he died.

    Now, I have two Persians. One’s named after St. Andrew, patron saint of Scotland. I come from a long line of crazed Scots, and the kitten I named “Andy” looked kind of like a crazed Scotsman when he was a wee kitten!

    The second one came along a bit later. A brother to the first one, littermates and best buddies forever, I thought I should give him a name that reflected my Scottish roots, too.

    I asked friends and a Scotsman I knew on the Internet for suggestions: Angus, Archibald, Murdoch…whew! He was only a little kitty! Then I had an epiphany: My name is Douglas, about as Scottish as it gets! I named my second Persian kitty “Dougy”.

    Why not!?

    It’s a family thing that my Dad didn’t want to name any of his children after himself: No juniors! The first baby was a girl…, the second, a boy but my father held out…the third, my father told Mom she could name with his first name, but not his middle (not a junior that way, eh?!), but, when Kathy was born, “Douglas” just didn’t fit!

    A few years later, I was born. Dad’d promised Mom she could name one of the brats his first name, but I was the first (and last) boy born into the family. Mom pounced on the opportunity, named me Douglas, but gave me a different middle name: I wasn’t a junior! Except everyone from my aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, perfect strangers who knew my Dad –.yeah, you’re getting the picture without the long, drawn out explanation — referred to me as Doug Junior, driving Dad and me crazy for decades.

    “I am not a junior! I have a different middle name!” I’d protest, but no one seemed able to grasp the concept.

    What does this have to do with naming my Persian cat “Dougy”? Well, after decades of telling people I’m not a junior, it’s become a bit of a joke to me. When people note we share the same first name, I tell them, “But he’s not a junior! He has a different middle name!”

    My siblings gets it. (Our parents both died some years back, or they’d laugh, too!)

    So…I understand how cat names can be tricky. I also called a neighbor’s grey tabby “Miss Kitty” till I found out “Miss Kitty”, too, was a neutered male, and his name was Woody. We became best buddies, and he trained me to be a cat person, though I clearly learned nothing about telling neutered male cats from females from that association.

    Like

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