the truth about cats

I've never been much of a cat person. They shed, they're needy, their claws inevitably get caught in my hair, and they try to jump in the shower with me. (Now, some people may think this is cute, but I am not a fan. Not. At all. Ever.) So overall, felines are not my favorite animals. But I've had cats before. My sister bought them, actually, but since I lived in the same house as the cats, I'll claim partial ownership. And I lived through it, even came out unscathed. I still don't like them, but I could live with them.

Last year, I somehow inherited two cats. Recognizing me as the pushover that I am (it usually takes people about 30 seconds to pick up on this), an acquaintance of mine asked me if I wouldn't mind taking her cats until she moved into her new apartment.

"Ooh, be a doll. It'll be no more than three months," I was assured. "And they are too adorable and lovable and cute and cuddly and wonderful and... blahblahblah. And I will be SO-ooo grateful and pleasepleasepleaseplease..."

"Sure, I'll take the cats."

"You are too sweet. Really. You really are."

Okay, so maybe I should have taken her blatant begging as a warnint sign. Or the fact that she had resorted to asking me, a non-cat-loving-very-much-a-dog-person whom she had known for a total of thirty minutes. Maybe I'm a bit naive.

So I had two cats. Two cats in my clean, freshly-painted, white-walled apartment. With brand-new furniture. Two cats (of opposite gender, I might add) that had yet to be de-clawed or "fixed". Or entirely litter-box trained, as I soon found out. But still, in my wide-eyed, optimistic, I-can-handle-anything-for-three-months way, I was excited.

Their first night at home, I let them sleep in my room.

Oscar. The "friendly, cuddly, very social" cat (as described by his well-meaning, if not overly enthusiastic owner Heather) was clawing my hair. And my neck, and arms and anything else he could reach. Okay, now I'll admit that maybe my social skills are a bit lacking, but I've never mauled a person in hopes of building a solid friendship. I guess Heather and I have different ideas on the definition of "social". So I moved the cats into the hallway, heard them whining, felt sorry for them, let them back into my room. Repeat. Again. And again. And again. Every time I let them back in, it would end in a loud hiss. Not from the cats, from me. (I'm not very good at yelling, so a hiss was the best I could come up with.)

After a month, I asked Heather (in an email - I was afraid I might hiss if I tried calling) to please, come get her adorable, loveable cats. And she did, while making no effort to hide her disgust with me for backing out of our agreement.

I have a soft spot for animals. All animals. I really do. I didn't want the kitties to be sad. (Which is why I let them into my room over and over and over again.) I just didn't want to sacrifice my bed and my sanity to keep them happy. Apparently I'm not that soft.