I have a Cat

My cat loves me. She always wants to be near me, she waits for me outside the bathroom door and I’m pretty certain she would take a bullet for me.  She considers herself to be my protector and she takes this responsibility very seriously.

When men come into my life, she makes her presence known with immediate effect.  If we’re sitting at the dining room table chatting and having a coffee, she will jump up and sit right in front of my face with her back to my man-friend.  If we’re watching a movie on the sofa, she will creep up behind him and lick his head until he moves. If she can’t lick him away, she will sit on his knee and fart.

I find men are very weirded out by my cats’ behaviour.  They often feel threatened and accuse her of being jealous of them and ultimately get into a ridiculous power struggle with her – but she always wins.

I am willing to consider I could be wrong,  maybe it’s not the ridiculous male ego that’s the problem – perhaps it is simply that age old ‘crazy cat lady’ syndrome.  If a single woman over the age of 30 dares have a cat, it appears she is looked upon as being ‘mentally ill’.  In any case, I find my cat is a good ally to have around in the game of culling out these short sighted idiots.  And she really seems to enjoy her role in my odd family – made up of me, my cat and my chickens.

One man-friend, who I shall call ‘The Ego’, had a particular problem with my cat and got into quite an avid power struggle with her.  He would do mean things to her like shoo her off the sofa, he wouldn’t let her into the house unless she waited quietly for a least five minutes and he wouldn’t let her stay inside when raining and no one was home.  In response, my cat would jump up on my knee and start purring and smooching her head under my chin, all while looking smugly at The Ego.  Even though The Ego was trying to pretend my cat didn’t bother him, he was quite annoyed at this apparent ‘fuck you’ and things escalated pretty fast.

One morning, The Ego was heading out the front door and was eerily faced with my cat looking up at him jarringly and with blatant intent. As he hesitantly stepped out the door towards her, she turned and started running in front of him, plopping poos as she went. Her evil plan was to get him to chase her, all the while stepping in her trail of poo.  He was too clever for this and saw straight through her game.  He placed little pieces of wood on each poo and texted me to ‘beware of the cat shit at the front door’.  He was concerned for my clean shoes you see – Tui ad right there.

Even with all the effort to hide his fury, I could tell The Ego took my cats’ defiance personally.  That night, after work, he decided a meeting needed to be held about her. “She has some kind of bowl problem” – he stated with all the seriousness of a qualified vet – “and I think she needs to be put down”.  Instead of acting as he would have liked, by bawling and saying: “oh my superior that is man, I realise you know best, as I am but a mere, dumb, blonde woman…. “, I simply explained that my cat didn’t like him and, quite frankly, she’s a very good judge of character.

“Well!  It’s me or the cat!!” he spat with superior grandeur.

If my cat lays a massive shit an elephant would be proud of, inside the house or at the front door, I know I have done something to upset her.  She mostly gets upset with overcrowding the house with a lot of visitors at once.  If she is visibly upset, I will dote on her and try to make her more comfortable – my house is her house after all.  If men can’t take me for all I am – cat, chickens, career, independence, prosperity and all, they can fuck off.

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