I’ve been hearing quite a bit lately about this show, “My Cat from Hell.”   Well-meaning friends and family trying to tell me about this man who is an expert on cats and will come into your home to diagnose whatever emotional problems your cat apparently picked up somewhere between the litter box and the water dish.   Sure, they act like they’re just mentioning it in passing, but the intention is clear: Your cats are assholes and all of you obviously need professional help and possibly some strong narcotics.  While I appreciate the thought, I’ve seen this guy, and there is no way on God’s green earth or Satan’s hell that I am letting someone named Jackson Galaxy in my home.  I don’t care WHAT he promises.

However, part of me wants to challenge him.  Because I firmly believe that while dogs are trainable, cats are not.  A dog, no matter how stupid, will eventually learn that sit = treat.  A dog will learn that “NO!” is often followed by something undesirable, whether it be a lack of treat or a swat on the rear.  A dog will hear his leash jangle and immediately associate it with “Walk.”  A dog will almost always accept her fate when it’s time to go in a cage for the night, or in the tub for a bath, or in the car for a vet trip.  This is why dogs are man’s best friend.  Even the ones that are dumb as fuck will eventually learn basic commands.

Cats will do none of these things.  Cats think that they are smarter than you, and will spend every minute of their ten-pound existence trying to prove it to you.  I’m pretty sure if my cats could talk, their stream of consciousness would go something like this.

• “Hurry, she looks comfortable.  Start barfing or something.”
• “OH MY GOD THERE’S A SHADOW ON THE CEILING AND MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE DEPENDS ON CATCHING IT!!!”
• “What do you mean, what am I doing on the counter?  I’m clearly licking the plates you left out.  Are you blind? Do you need a doctor?”
• “Oooh, oooh, ooh!!!  Clean laundry!  Ima curl up on it and molt like a snake!”
• “It’s three in the morning?  Shit, where did I hide that golf ball?  I need to start pouncing it across the wood floors.  It’s funny to watch the blonde one wake up in a panic.”
• “Stop bringing people in the house, I’ll stop biting them.  Problem solved.”
• “Go ahead and keep buying discount food.  I can throw up like literally anywhere.  It’s a lot harder for you to get underneath the dresser than me.”
• “Excuse me.  EXCUSE ME.  I was sleeping on this pillow and there’s no room for your giant head.  If you insist on trying, I’ll have to keep pawing you in the face.  And since I won’t sit still long enough for anyone to clip my nails, it’s probably going to be more uncomfortable for you than me.”
• “You think you were worried when that stupid small cat took off?  Watch me streak out onto the porch and nearly fall out the third story window.  You don’t even know panic, lady.”
• “You need to go to the bathroom?  We’ll come hang out!”
• “Are you seriously telling me to stop meowing?  I’m a cat, dumbass.  You’d be just as successful reasoning with your toothbrush.”
• “Hey, asshole.  I’m stuck to the window screen.  Would you prefer I yowl like someone’s pulling my teeth out or tear a giant hole in it?”
• “What?  I can only throw up properly when I’m walking around the bed while you’re sleeping in it.  Stop acting all crazy.”
• “I wasn’t trying to trip you.  I just like to hang out under your feet.”
• “Good morning!  I’m going to stand on your head now.”
• “Please.  Stop threatening to ‘Set me free.’  You don’t have the balls and you know it.  You’re really just embarrassing us all here.”

Your move, Cat Whisperer.  I’m sure as hell out of them.

See? As soon as I stop typing, they’re all, “What? We didn’t want to hang out on the computer. Leave us alone.”