On Tolerance

Let’s face it, being a cat is a pretty cool gig to have. You have the best of both worlds. You can be part of the great outdoors, making a dozen new friends a minute, like me. Or you can be a part of the great indoors, where love, warm beds, food, and twelve hour naps await you. I don’t really have to answer to anybody – unlike our slobbering, dung loving canine friends – and can name my own price.

The only thing you really need to worry about is the kids kicking you in the head at night, or a bear or a cougar taking you out. That, or getting run over. More about that later.

Making new friends can be tiresome, I know. I think some of the neighbors around here need to get used to a cat’s love, or my clawed high five and my pouncing hug. Only yesterday, a cardinal came for a visit. Pretty bird, that one. A little too pretty, for my own taste. I don’t think any animal should be showing off like that. At least not in my territory.  

Oh well, I had to suck it up and give her a warm welcome. Tolerance, Zelda, my dear.

It seems the cardinal was napping a little and never saw me coming. Imagine this: I jump up to greet her, and disaster strikes. My claw gets caught in Ms. Cardinal’s feather. Then it’s the crazy bullet theory all over again, because from there, multiple claws start the shredding process. Didn’t really hurt her, except for its fur, its skin, and its heart. Prissy Ms. Cardinal didn’t care for that and went to sleep on the spot. Now this is getting on my nerves. Am I that boring that I put everybody around here to sleep? Why aren’t animals around here up for a little hide-and-go-seek, hopscotch, or an occasional death match? Is it because I can’t fly? That must be it. I still wouldn’t kid me over it, my bird friends. I might have another friendly high five here somewhere.

That little slip aside, I have plenty of company around here! My family, especially Andrew and Gin, is beginning to grate on me with their restrictions. Telegram, Mr. and Ms. Mensa: I am a cat. I can see in the dark and have ninja powers beyond your imagination, yet you people seem to think you can restrict me. What part of the word ‘nocturnal’ do you not understand? At that time, the party is in full gear while you go to sleep. And I can’t go out at night? Bears, cougars, and freezing cold nights are not valid excuses for keeping me locked in at night. I, too, was born to kill have a good time with my archenemies who will be snuffed out, one by one, family by family rich animal companionship all around me.

Okay, so the night is not all gravy. That’s when cats get run over! Although we can see at night, people are blind. They do stupid stuff in the dark, like drive. They walk around like a mouse whose tail has been bitten off. Blind as bats. I’m not sure I want to be around them at night.

But there you have it. The worst thing about being a cat is tolerance. You heard that right. Tolerance is a people pleaser. I still think I as a cat must make the ultimate sacrifices to be loved. I, for one, tolerate dogs. They get too close to me, though, and it’s a can of whoop ass for you, Lassie. Why, oh why, do people love dogs so much? Well, dogs kiss their own asses non-stop for one. Not hard to do, being that they love to kiss their own so much. Although I could, theoretically, it’s a practice I’ll pass on.

Not Rover and Scout Brownnose, though. They greet each other with a lick. Shudder.