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Why I Hate My Cats. And Why I Love Them.


We have two cats, Thunder and Lily. The look sort of like these two at the left. One is a tabby cat and the other a tortoiseshell. They live in our garage.

I heard on the radio yesterday that in a majority of households, dads are the most reluctant to bring pets into the family.

Yet despite that reluctance, dads are the ones who end up taking care of the very pets they didn’t want in the first place.

That’s the story of my cat life.

Why I Hate My Cats

  • Because I am allergic to cats. That’s why they live in our garage.
  • Because Thunder meows without ceasing (I Thessalonians 5:17) as soon as he hears my wife Julie enter the house. Without ceasing. Until she holds him or feeds him or both.
  • Because they sometimes miss the litter box.
  • Because they are excellent hunters. And they bring their trophies into the garage. In multiple pieces.
  • Because cat food stinks. And who feeds them in the morning? The one person in the family who is allergic to them.
  • Because they have never said “thank you” for anything. Ever.

Why I Love My Cats

  • Because they are excellent hunters. We will never have mice or rats in the house. Said rodents are always in the garage instead. Dead.
  • Because most days they cuddle up like the two cats in the picture.
  • Because when I sit out on the back porch and read, Lily comes and sits by my feet expecting me to pet her. She seems unaware of or unconcerned about my allergies.
  • Because Thunder knows better than to ask for me to pet him.
  • Because I never have to walk around my neighborhood with them on a leash while carrying a plastic bag to “curb them.”
  • Because they spend most of their time away from the house, in the woods, yet never feel the necessity to “tell me about their day” when they return home.

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