Cat People Vs. Dog People
8/24/09
It’s my belief that human beings can be divided into two general categories: Cat people and dog people. I realize that this may seem like an unfair dichotomy since some people love both species equally, but I think those people just can’t make up their minds—kind of like bisexuals. I also realize that people adopt all kinds of species as pets, but everyone knows that owners of exotic creatures such as iguanas, ferrets, chimpanzees, and tarantulas are either showoffs or weirdoes, so I’m excluding them. (Remember Michael Jackson and Bubbles the chimp? I rest my case.)
I used to be a dog person. From the time I was five until my late teens, my family had a dog named Sam, a sweet mutt with a mane like a Chow and a face like my sister. Some of my happiest childhood memories are of playing with Sam in our backyard. Sam lived to be 14—98 in dog years—and we were devastated when he died.
I formed a negative opinion of cats at about age four, when I tried to pet a tomcat that wandered through our yard. He hissed at me and scratched my arm with his razor-sharp claws, and I ran bleeding and crying to my mommy. Thereafter I thought of cats as mean, furry little snobs with demon eyes. Plus in movies and books, cats were always up to no good and were associated with black magic and evil. Witches always hung out with black cats, not cute little poodles.
It wasn’t until I was 30 and moved in with a girlfriend who had three cats that I began to revise my opinion of them. At first I was wary, because I’d seen too many horror movies in which cats were possessed by the spirit of an evil Egyptian pharaoh and would steal people’s souls or bite their jugulars while they were sleeping. To my relief, the cats caused me no supernatural harm, and I eventually stopped covering my head with a pillow at bedtime. They proved to be affectionate and playful when they weren’t hissing at me and scratching me on the arms, and they required far less attention and maintenance than dogs. Without my realizing it, I had crossed over to the cat side.
About three years ago, I adopted three stray kittens that were wandering my neighborhood. We have a lot in common. The cats clean themselves (like I sometimes do), are quite capable of amusing themselves with simple things and like to sleep a lot. Dogs, on the other hand, are like children—they smell bad and you have to bathe at regular intervals; they have to be exercised and played with and given lots of attention; and if you don’t teach them where to pee and poop, they’ll go anywhere. They’re so needy.
Don’t get me wrong—I still love dogs. After all, you can’t get a cat to chase a ball or wag its tail and lick you affectionately in the face or look you in the eyes as if you’re the most important creature on Earth. It’s simply that cats better fit my needs as a lazy pet owner. I’m not saying that one species is superior to the other.
I think we choose pets that reflect our own personality traits. I’ve been told I’m cat-like. Not just because of my amazing reflexes, but because I can be aloof and seem indifferent to others, and I enjoy spending lots of time alone and playing with balls of yarn. So, using my basic knowledge of psychology and tendency to grossly oversimplify things, I’d like to illustrate the differences between cat people and dog people using two major religious figures—Jesus and the Buddha.
I feel certain Jesus would’ve been a dog person. Jesus had many dog-like traits: He was loyal, compassionate, fiercely protective and faithful. He actively sought to lead the pack, and was willing to give his life for the sake of others. It’s easy to picture Jesus with a big dog at his side. It’s harder to imagine him with a pet kitty named Mr. Cuddles. In fact, if Jesus himself were an animal, I think he’d be a dog—most appropriately, a Shepherd breed of some sort.
The Buddha, on the other hand, would’ve been a cat person. The Buddha was a loner, spent many years in solitude, attained enlightenment on his own, and was rumored to give himself tongue baths. Although he emphasized compassion and oneness, he sought no followers, but so many people came to him for guidance that he reluctantly became a teacher. Buddha’s choice of a pet most definitely would’ve been a cat. Or a pet rock. If the Buddha were an animal, he’d probably be a Siamese.
If you’ve learned anything from this essay, it’s probably that I have no idea what I’m talking about. As I was writing this, I remembered that some of the most misanthropic people I know are dog owners, and some of the most warm, gregarious people I know are cat owners, which undermines my basic theory. But, being a cat person, I don’t really care what anyone thinks, and I’m too lazy to write a new essay right now.
I feel a nap coming on. You can go away now.
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