Could you Get Fuzzy already?

Ok, Satchel, here's the deal. You're the dog, Bucky's the cat. There's a hierarchy here. You're bigger, yet somehow less intelligent. He's small, yet crafty. Wily, you might say. But, and I fear I'm being redundant, you're the dog. Get with the program already, will ya? Case in point:


See, in this instance you used timing to good effect, but it is, and you must agree, a rare occurrence. More often than not, you demonstrate a distinct lack of je ne sais quoi. See that? I'm German, yet I know French. A cat would probably call me elitist, but I like to think of myself as cultured. You learn all sorts of useful things at school. Like when to bark, when not to bark, what to do with your tail when you lay down, how to take over a foreign sofa... what some might call "proper etiquette."

Unfortunately, Satchel, you also demonstrate some of the more disdainful properties of us dogs. Observe, if you will, Exhibit B:

Here, you clearly show to the world what is going on behind those floppy ears of yours. You're not ashamed of it, either. Maybe that's the difference between floppy-eared dogs and pointy-eared dogs. While we may have these same thoughts, we know our limits. Also, we know that there are other poles to be sniffed, and therefore the smells at this individual pole pale in comparison to the smorgasbord of smells available to us further down the block. Imagine, if you will, a bone. Yes, you could chew it until there is nothing left, but isn't it more enjoyable to gnaw for a while, then nap, do some cleaning, walk around, sniff the houseplants, and then gnaw some more? I mean, you get to stretch out the timeline of both gnawliness and enjoyability, almost to infinity. Of course, it also depends on how efficient your chewing is, but in general the more breaks you take, the longer you get to enjoy the bone. Does that make sense, Satchel?

Here's Exhibit C, just in case I haven't made my point yet:

Taste? Taste? You haven't even smelled it yet! It could be rotten! It could be dirt! For all you know, it could have worms in it! Of course, it could also be something tasty, like rabbit. That is why I advise smell. Always, always, always, smell first. If enjoyable, carry on. If questionable, check to see that there aren't any humans around to discourage you. If rancid, leave it for the squirrels. They deserve it, filthy little rodents.

I guess, Satchel, as much as most of this has been an admonishment to you, in all reality I am slightly jealous. You get to play with a cat. A Cat! I've always wanted one - I've seen them in windows, I've heard them at the vet, I've even smelled them in my yard. (How the furry little rascal got there without me noticing is still a mystery, but as I noted above, they are wily. Most likely related to squirrels, but wily nonetheless.) So really, it's envy and jealousy. And a little bit of the unknown. I mean, what would I do with a cat? I don't know, because my humans never let me try. Personally, I think they would make great toys. Who wants to chase a ball when you can chase something that moves on its own?

Finally, Satchel, I present your saving grace, Exhibit D:

I guess, deep down inside, I just want to hold a cat. But, as you experienced, not all cats want to be held. Maybe it's just fear of the unknown that makes them hold back. I don't know. What I do know, though, is that....
I want one! I want one! I want one! I want one!

Can I have a kitty?




With thanks (and apologies) to Darby Conley.