The Truth About Cats and Dogs

As we all know, I love my dog. (Hell, she even has her own blog.) She is my baby, my buddy and my near-constant companion. Since I love my dog so much, I never want her to feel neglected, dejected or put out. As crazy as it may sound, I don't want her to ever think she isn't absolutely adored. 

So, clearly the decision to get another pet is not one that I take lightly. I already worry that Cassidy doesn't get enough attention because of how much time we spend with my Significant Other and his dog. But, then this stray little kitten showed up and needed a home, I found myself softening.

I was still really concerned about Cassidy, my time and my resources though, so I consulted a lot of other pet owners for help making a decision. Here's what all of my friends said when I was thinking about taking in a homeless cat:

"Oh my gosh, it's nothing like having a dog. Cats are so low maintenance."

"You don't need to worry about your furniture. That's what scratching posts are for."

"I don't know what it is, but cats just KNOW how to use a litter box. They don't have accidents, and you don't have to house train them."

Now, I love my friends dearly, so please forgive me when I say this (and remember that it's been a rather stressful week), but YOU ALL LIED. 

My "low-maintenance" cat cries when he can't be in the same room with me. And do you know where he prefers to sleep? On my chest. Don't get me wrong -- he's cute -- but it's not exactly easy to get anything done when there's a cat glued to your collarbone. Plus, it's still September in Alabama, so I don't really require a semi-permanent neck warmer just yet.

The scratching post? A pointless expenditure at Wal-Mart that apparently can't hold a candle to my sofa, chairs and feet. I even drenched the sucker in cat nip. Effective? No. Smelly? Yes.

And when it comes to that litter box, don't even get me started. Either I have the one exception in the history of feline companionship or not all cats automatically know what to do when confronted with a pan full of odor-absorbing granules. 

All of this adorable fluff really masks a needy, peeing destructor. Poor Cassidy -- who was supposed to end up with a part-time roommate who wanted little to nothing to do with us -- now has a sibling that camps on her mom's chest, marks her turf and thinks her tail is a fascinating toy to be chewed and batted.

Of course, the real problem is that it's all too late anyway. The cat isn't going anywhere. Neither is Cassidy, and neither am I. We're in it together now -- unused scratching post and all.