Cats, Huh?

I've gotten used to dogs. They're easy to get used to. When you come home to a dog and there's a dent in the bed, you know they spent their time there sleeping and waiting in down swaddled comfort for you, their master to come home. Dogs are innocent and sweet by nature.

Cats on the other hand.

When you come home to a cat and there's a brush and a bar of soap where you swore it wasn't when you left, you-have-got-to-wonder. The cat looks at you in your moment of suspiciousness and you know you're not the boss. Suddenly you start thinking it had itself a bath. You see paws squeezing a bubble bath bottle, the damn cat reclining using a washcloth folded four ways as a pillow, and the worst of it, is you see the damn thing scrubbing its back with your toothbrush.

Dogs make you comfortable because you look down and think, now Spot, she'd give her life for me. You look down at a cat and you think, Cleo would eat my carcass if I skipped one ritual opening of the luxurious tinned cat food and I'd be lucky if I were actually dead when she dug in.