No Cats Please

I'm going on record here.

I hate cats. If you have a cat, God bless you. Love it with every fiber of emotion in your body. That doesn't change the way I feel. I still hate them.

Part of the reason why is that I can't spend more than five minutes in a room with one and not experience perhaps the worst allergic and asthmatic episode ever recorded in history. If it's been a few months since you flipped the on/off switch on your vacuum cleaner, the wheezes will intensify at a geometric progression.

If you've got a cat in your house, don't expect me to stay longer than five minutes. Don't wait for me to sit down because the odds are your cat has bounced over every piece of furniture and cushion. If I sit down, the cat hair gets on my clothes and comes home with me and then I can have that same pulmonary attack in the confines of my own sterile cat-less abode.

Now, by and large, I can control the existence of a dander-free environment. Friends acknowledge that and embrace my shortcomings. Thank you for understanding. If you want me to see photos of your home, please e-mail them in a .jpeg format. Just don't wait for me to step inside and watch your beloved Fluffy lick her paws while lounging in the dish rack on the kitchen counter. Or, even worse. Make me watch as the shit piles up in the litter box that's right next to the cookie jar. Hmm. Are those really chocolate chips? Yum. Excuse me while I throw up in my mouth a little.

But, beyond the health reasons for my dislike of this creatures, there's another factor at place.

I don't think they're cute. As far as I'm concerned, they're not lovable. Or adorable. While dogs love you unconditionally, cats are always looking to get the upper paw on you. "Screw you and your need to pet me. When the fuck do I eat?" I don't think they are capable of loving anything but themselves.

Okay, I admit some of this venom is deep seeded. When I was about five or six, I stumbled on a dead cat in our driveway and it just had its head steamed and pressed by a Goodyear tire. That image has stayed with me forever. Certainly not the poor cat's fault. But I can never shake that visualization.My grandmother hated cats, too, for a completely different reason. She alleges, as only Grandma would, that the only cat she ever had tried to suck the life out of my father as he lay innocently in his crib. My grandmother claims she came in just as the cat was going to take a bite out of my dad's infant neck. For years, I have not been able to shake that mental visualization.

A psychiatrist might now reason that my cat allergy could be tied to those two childhood events. And perhaps the wheezing and runny eyes is a direct result. It makes sense.But, then, I open an innocent e-mail and it starts all over for me. Maybe you get them, too. Those adorable cat photos that some folks just find so irresistable. They are endless and so quickly deleted. "Doesn't little Furball look so cute sitting on top of that halogen floor lamp?"

No, he doesn't. As a matter of fact, I am guessing one of the cat's claws might scrape a wire near the bulb and you'll find your home in ashes when you get back from Starbucks. Or perhaps the following damage will happen as I once posted in one of my most favorite video laughs.

So, yes, gang, unless your cat is having a spin like the one shown above, I don't want the adorable videos or e-mails or photos or poems. Your cat love is not welcome here. And those e-mails are immediately spammed. And perhaps, if you're Korean, that's the ultimate destination for your cat.  In a can of Spam.  Sorry, folks, forgive me and...

A-choo.

Dinner last night: Salami sandwich and salad.