Well, Color Me Hurt and Confused
I’m not even sure how I came across this article; one minute I was reading about Tori Spelling’s money problems (that post almost writes itself, but I have to take a step back before writing it so as not to be a hate-filled obscenity spewing rant about how she should be ASHAMED of herself even saying such a thing as how she lost a million dollars in her efforts to scale down,) (Seriously?! Many other notes aside, you had to make some money of your own playing that unbearable Donna character, lording your virginity over poor David Silver for so long,) and the next thing I knew I saw this article by one Abigail Geer entitled, “10 Signs Your Kitty Actually Loves You.” Well, I thought to myself, I could use that! Perhaps there’s some signs here I was unaware of that will help me understand why I keep feeding and cleaning out boxes of shit for two animals who – at least on the surface – would eat me if I stayed still long enough.
Ms. Geer’s article gives, as advertised, ten cat behaviors that supposedly prove their love. For her reasoning, please feel free to read the article linked above. Here’s what I thought.
1. Head butting. Right. Because very few things say “I love you,” more than face-to-face combat, especially if one opponent is wide awake while the other is in a blissful slumber.
2. Powerful purrs. My stupid small cat sounds like a motorboat when he purrs. It’s actually cute – he only weighs like six pounds and it’s unbelievable what a loud sound he makes when he’s purring. Unfortunately, he purrs the loudest and most frequently while he is licking the (surely lead-based painted) walls. Try to pick him up or pet him and he recoils as though you’re trying to throw him in a vat of boiling acid. The other one? See sign number three below.
3. Love bites. Apparently there is a difference between a “love bite,” and a “cat bite.” Hmm. Tell me, Ms. Geer, when the cat is chomping about your ankles while you’re making dinner, is that a love bite? When the cat curls up all sweet right next to you while you rest and then sinks her teeth into the tender flesh on the underside of your arm when you pet her, is that a love bite? How about when she tries to take a chunk out of your knuckles while you attempt to eat a popsicle? Which type of bite is that? Cause I’m pretty sure it’s the “my cat is simply a complete asshole,” bite. Does yours have one for that designation?
4. Tail twitching. You know what my cat is getting ready to do when his tail twitches? Pee in my shoe.
5. Tummy up. Ms. Geer says it shows trust. I say it shows a grim determination to trip me to my death while trying to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, as that’s the only time either of these jerks ever flops down in front of me.
6. Licking your hair or ears. Hmm. Have you ever woken up to a cat trying to pull your hair out of your head via her teeth in the middle of the night? Do you know what that sounds like when it wakes you out of a sound sleep? It sounds like the murderer you’ve known has been coming TRYING TO SAW THROUGH YOUR HEAD, that’s what. To your other point about the ears, I refer you to my husband who suffered an (undiagnosed) punctured ear drum when the cat resting on his melon got scared and clawed his way to the ceiling via his head.
7. Kneading. Nope. This does not make me feel good. This reminds me I really, really need to go to the gym and stop eating so much damn macaroni and cheese.
8. Slow blinking. You call it “kiss with their eyes,” all you want, you weirdo. I call it the creepiest staring contest ever because my cats? Don’t fucking blink.
9. Nap time. Apparently cats crave a safe place when they sleep, so if they pick you to be their naptime spot, you should feel honored. Sure. Recently, Potato fell asleep with his head and front paws hanging off of the top of the refrigerator. Ramon once got trapped INSIDE the refrigerator (not a good day,) and when I opened it she blinked repeatedly, jumped out, and took a swing at me; apparently I’d ruined her nap.
10. Gifting. This was geared towards a cat leaving a mouse they’ve killed at your doorstep, showing their prowess and bounty to you. If that’s true, when that baby possum got on the porch and I was chasing it down the stairs with a broom – CRYING, mind you – where the fuck were these cats then? Cowering under the blanket, that’s where.
I’m starting to think maybe I should have a dog. Or a pet rock.