The case for cats over dogs (on steroids)

Years of extensive psychiatric care isn’t cutting it. Venting on Substack is what I’m working with.

I’ve talked about it before, but the two souls most important to me - the ones I love best on this big blue marble of a crazy world speeding through outer space - are currently taking leaps of their own into the universe.

I’m trying not to take it personally. But the only constant is change, everyone gets older and moves on, be like the Buddhist (Hindu, Jedi … whatever) leaf flowing with the current down the river of life, please move on and by the way the restraining order clearly covers my porch, bleh bleh bleh. I get it.

But I just love these two darn cats so much.

What … ?

Well I certainly don’t mean my traitorous daughters, who obviously hate their father and either just moved away or scheming to do so. The instant my youngest recently turned 18, she turned on her devoted father by taunting him and saying he can’t legally tell her what to do any more.

Like he - I - ever did. Plus, she did a year of Jiu-Jitsu and was able to take down dad like a chainsaw to sapling by the time she was 15.

But if a guy my (young and handsome) age isn’t married, he needs some fallback when his kids conspire to grow up and leave him.

Pets.

That’s what it’s come to. Yet I don’t get to keep them either.

A couple months ago my youngest announced I now own a bearded dragon (I do TikToks of her - they’re really cute). My daughter told me she’s moving, going to college, and leaving the lizard with me.

It wasn’t my idea - her mother bought it when the dragon and my daughter were smaller and cute. If I wanted a reptile, I’d buy an alligator (I know a guy). My uncle told me when I was 7 the workers at the California Academy of Science - where we frequently visited - walked them on leashes at night.

My uncle was a scientist. Scientists don’t lie.

So I guess I own a weird reptile, despite really being a dog person my whole life. I love their devotion, optimism, happiness, willingness to not ask me to buy them shoes, and typically have less dignity than me, which makes me feel better.

But I haven’t had a dog in a decade. I bought my mom one a couple years ago - a tremendously cute Tibetan terrier, who looked small, quiet, and perfect for a grandma.

She named him Beau. I call him Mongo.

He’s ruined my opinion of dogs, like Donald Trump is about to ruin my opinion of national birthdays.

The adoption people wearing aprons emblazoned with dog puns promised me “Oh yes, he’s wonderful. He gets along with other dogs and cats, is a great walker, follows commands, graduated from UC Riverside with a degree in humanities and a minor in physics, and donates his consulting salary to a homeless shelter.”

The beast settled in just long enough with my mom to get her attached … then revealed his true colors.

He’s a furry mini Sherman tank - pound-for-pound, slightly stronger than the 49ers offensive line. I’ve caught the dog lifting weights in the garage when he thinks no one’s home.

He’s probably on drugs, hasn’t slept in three years. and treats other dogs on walks like the Incredible Hulk treats hecklers. It’s embarrassing having to physically sit on him while apologizing to the other dogwalkers, as the dog has a howling seizure.

So I take him to the dog park, remove his leash, open the gate and … nothing. He ignores other dogs in lieu of sniffing plants for an hour.

But he pees on everything, especially in the home neighborhood. In a nine-minute, one-block walk, this dog with what I assume is a dog bladder, will lift the leg 15 to 20 times. It’s work for everyone, especially the poor trees

But cats … that’s a very different, more challenging type of pet.

Cats are cool. Cats contemplate. You never know what a cat is thinking until they trick you into quietly getting what they want. You have to earn a cat’s respect.

Getting a cat to simply acknowledge you is an amazing accomplishment. Getting them to openly like you? I never felt so good about me.

Right after I wrote that, one of my cats bit me. Probably because he reads along.

See? Unpredictable and mysterious.

I said one of “my” cats, which is only true in the sense I pay for food, litter, flea medication, most vet bills, and do the feeding each morning. And most of the litter box cleaning.

I do that for one simple reason you’ve already surmised: I am a sucker.

My daughters each claim one cat. One was purchased by my daughter’s mother. He’s extremely sweet, replies when spoken to, and likes eating so much visitors frequently ask how we got a permit for the hippo.

The other cat - who just bit me - is the methodical alpha of the pride, until the hippo tires of him and uses his bulk to knock him across the room.

They clash but are always together. It’s like reliving dating when I was 19.

I love them like I’ve never loved cats. They’ve inched ahead of dogs: less slobber, less barking, less leash-pulling, more dignity. They know things.

We’re a bonded trio, as they say. And I’m trying not to freak out, as both will likely follow my daughters in a month or two.

But we ebb and flow through life, in and out of each other’s lives. We miss our friends until we find them again, or discover others. The cats and I will still cross paths and, when we can’t, we’ll still text one another stupid dog videos.

Meanwhile, I’m hoping the next place will have a pond big enough for a reptile I’ve heard can be leash trained.

My daughters have a dad to feed, so please consider paying $8 a month to read these columns. Find more nonsense in Tony’s book “Lying Drunk,” available from Barnes & Noble at https://bit.ly/46xoaJJ or Amazon at https://a.co/d/cYNCUPp).