Purr-A-Noia: The Morbid Fear that Cats are up to Something
Having been a dog over cat person for the bulk of my life, its no surprise that I was less than pleased when I found out my new roommate was bringing along not one, but two cats. My first thoughts were the foul stench of litter, food scattered on the floor, and the loss of freedom when it comes to leaving the door open to carry in groceries. I soon found my fears to be shallow; there was a more weighted, uneasiness that comes with co-habitation of evil disguised in a soft and cuddly suit.
I was at work the day my roommate moved his belongings and meowing terrorists into my house. Pre-arrival of my return home that night, my roommate sent a warning text that they may try and make a great escape, and to beware when going in and out. Tiptoeing through the door, and quickly slamming it behind me, I looked around, expecting to be bombarded with cats trying to bully me into letting them free from their new prison. To my surprise – nothing. I recited the standard “here kitty kitty”, around the house, in hopes of introducing myself to the new four-legged housemates, but still, nothing.
I had heard of how adorable and sweet Chippy and Kuma were through mutual friends, and was assured I was lucky to inherit such fun and friendly pets. Given my pre-existing distaste for house cats, I was curious about these particular ones and had a non-admitted hope that the three of us could be friends, and they would be the ones to change my mind on their species as a whole.
My first encounter with Chippy, the rounded, delicate-faced calico, was unsettling to say the least. Her being new to the house, you would expect some level of boundary, or humility, at least until she got to know her new roommates/people who provide her shelter. After several minutes of making faux-kissing noises and imitation meows (trying to welcome them in their own language), I figured they were hiding and I should put a damper on my excitement. After a call to my other roommate, he assured me they were just frightened and in time, they would come out and be positive additions to our already happy home. With this admitted defeat, I retired to my room to start my after-work routine of changing out of my grown-up clothes, using the restroom, etc.
As I was at the using the restroom stage of my nightly ritual, Chippy decided to make her debut… In a large way. She had been hiding in my bathtub, making not one sound, and waiting until the perfect moment when I was most vulnerable to establish her dominance. Not only did she exit the toilet-facing bathtub without me having a clue she was there, but she pounced through the curtain with such purpose that I KNEW she was TRYING to scare me. And that she did. Of course I screamed, she ran, and I had to awkwardly let her out of my room.
Crazy Cat People everywhere would just interpret this to be innocent. They would claim that I was the insensitive human and my physical screaming reaction was abusive, and the poor cat was to be coddled and not to be blamed. THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO DO. I’m not saying ALL cats are evil, however, I passionately feel their intelligence is beyond what is assumed to be limited to “love owner”, “poop in box”, and “feed me.” Manipulation, entitlement, and only being sweet when they want something from you is what REALLY runs through the minds of most house cats. The term, “A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing”, comes to mind when I look into the eyes of the adorable cats that walk about my house, sit on whatever they want, and drink out of my water glass when I turn my back. Having voiced my concerns over their misbehavior, and reprimanded because their owners think whatever they do is cute, I’m labeled some sort of cat-Grinch, and am an immediate target for the cats to put on their “Death-Plot” list. I see it whenever I look at them directly and their laser beam eyes glare into my soul.
I find my experiences with cats and the conclusions I’ve drawn to be justified. The evil living in my house comes in the form of furry, purring, four-legged masterminds that will eventually kill me in my sleep.
****An excerpt taken from a diary entry listed in a medical book on the mental illness, “Purr-a-Noia” (The morbid fear that Cats are up to something).
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