Don’t Let The Fluff Fool You

Don’t Let The Fluff Fool You

USA Today wrote about it. Then Forbes followed with an article of their own. Science says that our house cats would kill us if they could! After all, they are descendants of the apex and ultimate predator, the lion. 

I guess this means Fluffy wants to see me dead. This makes me laugh. But, in a “Ha-ha-ha, I better go feed the cat” kind of way. Maybe overfeeding is the ticket toward maintaining a kill-free relationship. Then again, feeding a mass murderer in the making may have her exceeding house cat size, and she’ll blossom into a cold-blooded killer! 

I’m no masochist, but I put a lot of effort into bringing home this serial killer disguised as a stuffed animal. One would think adopting a cat is easy. Most shelters are overflowing with animals waiting for their forever homes. It was a surprise when our local Rescue greeted me with a lengthy, three-page “Cat Adoption Application.” 

It got down to business with question one, “What is your annual income?” I answered, “More than enough to feed a cat.” Question two felt more invasive, asking for my place of employment and if they could contact my boss for a reference. I make it a point never to interact with my boss, so I answered that question with one of my own, “How does my ability to transcribe data translate to caring for a cat?”

I finished completing all the irrelevant questions and handed in the application, eager to select a kitty from the hundreds I could hear meowing from the Shelter lobby. That’s when she entered the room. The Nurse Ratchet of rescue cats, holding my application and practically pointing to the door. Her facial expression said I wasn’t leaving this shelter with any cats. 

I eventually ended up with a kitten. Now I question that Animal Shelter’s lackadaisical approach in letting some poor fluff ball go home with such an inept person to care for it. According to Nurse Ratchet, I’m incompetent at cat care. But, if she could see how well I treat Fluffy, I know she would think otherwise.

I spend nearly a fortune on the best cat food money can buy. It’s fit for humans, and sometimes I lick the slippage off my fingers when opening a can. It should get a Michelin star for its meaty pieces of filet mignon. It’s that good. 

 I really do appreciate people who help cats. These cute creatures seem to hold second fiddle to man’s best friend, the dog. But cats are special, even if they are plotting our death. I wonder if Fluffy would toy with me like a feline plays with its prey. Would I be tossed into the air and batted around before she would befell me? 

All this aside, why does an animal shelter need to know my annual income? That’s personal stuff. And I’m sure my boss has more important calls than one to confirm an employee can both work a computer and care for a cat.  

I’m looking at Fluffy as I write this. She’s been staring at birds in our backyard, plotting an ambush for the last hour. If patience is a virtue, cats have a first-class ticket to the pearly gates. They say all dogs go to Heaven, but cats will rule the kingdom. That is, if they don’t kill us first. After all, murder isn’t something Heaven looks upon fondly. 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *