I’m Writing About My Cats as I Don’t Think I’ll Catch any Crap for That

Because one has to be on one’s toes here, doesn’t one?

As long as I’ve lived with cats, which is close to thirty-five years, these enchanting creatures have never failed to amaze, delight, and enlighten me with their ever-evolving behavioral patterns.

For example, a cat that is not by nature a snuggler, will, one, or two years down the road, do a 360 and happily “make biscuits” in your lap while you binge your favorite Netflix show. Kneading his or her paws against that little pooch that hangs over the waistband of your pants. You folks who share your lives with pussy (sorry, couldn’t resist) know what I’m talkin’ about.

To me, that element of surprise, of never knowing what they’re going to do next, is a gift. And, while we wait for their next spectacular “slight of paw,” patience is key as cats take their time before completely letting us in, before revealing their purity of soul, and letting us know they love us as much as we do them. And yes, cats do love.

Some people (okay, idiots) don’t understand this, and without ever having shared their lives with felines, erroneously bleat about cats being “standoffish” and “selfish.”

Well, like so much else we are confronted with today, that’s utter bullshit. Cats don’t engage in “blind trust,” which is one of the characteristics that I find so appealing.

In other words, they’re smart AF and know an asshole when they see one. Or, smell one.

As well as admiring their whip-smart instincts, I’m filled with gratitude for the fact that our cats love me, no matter how I look, or what I write about, or who I may skewer in my stories. They instinctively know that “mommy” is a good person with a kind heart who would help any individual or creature that needed it.

Our cats watch, rapt, as I feed squirrels and birds, and rather than kill bugs, carefully slide them onto a paper towel or piece of cardboard and set them free in our yard. That last bit they’d rather handle in their own fashion but I can be quick when I want to be.

Like them, they also know that mommy has a low tolerance for bullshit and isn’t afraid to call it out…sometimes to her detriment.

But, this isn’t about me, per se, this is about our brood, Dooley, Conor, and Lorna. And, without overstating it, I must admit that they give me a reason to crawl out of bed in the mornings. Especially on those days when I could literally rage on the page but don’t because ultimately, I will take shit for it.

Of course, I have no choice but to get up when Lorna starts knocking shit off the dresser and Conor emits his high-pitched, soprano-perfect wail, but Dooley… this guy merely sits and waits like the gentleman he is. He wisely, and quietly looks on and lets the other two do the work of rousing us. Because when cats want to eat, they want to EAT, and there’s no fucking around.

I took the lead picture yesterday while preparing to make our bed. As soon as I dumped the sheets on it — straight from the dryer — Lorna was there like a shot. She burrowed in and drifted off into kitty dreamland straightaway.

And there’s no way I would ever disturb her. I make the bed when they’re ready to let me make the bed. Or hang up clothes, fold towels, or perform any number of activities that might get in the way of their just being cats.

Cats are no slouches when it comes to cleanliness. Again, ours adore linens that are freshly washed, crisp, pristine, and sweet-smelling. I love it when one of our brood hops on my lap, still warm from the sheets and smelling of lavender and vanilla from my detergent/fabric softener combo.

Eventually, I was able to get the bed made up, and as soon as I folded the top of the comforter down and plopped the pillows in place, this is what followed:

They couldn’t wait to hop back on the bed and commence napping. They’re looking rather introspective, wouldn’t you agree? That, or somewhat hostile, I can’t decide.

Nah. I do not incite hostility, in any way, shape, or form.

That’s Dooley hunkering up next to the pillows, Conor up front on the left, and Lorna, our vixen, flanking him.

She does look a little pissed off.

Anyway, I love these guys. They keep me sane…as sane as I’ll ever be. And writing about them helps me avoid stepping into Shit City, if only for a little while.

No doubt, I’ll read something here, quite soon, that will set me off on some tangent or another. Something incredibly slanderous or stupid or self-aggrandizing. And I’ll write a rejoinder that people may or may not appreciate. Along with an email from the support staff, here. But that’s part of the fun, right? The not knowing what you’ll get, or when? Kind of like with cats. Kind of like with me.

Maybe I’m part cat. Hell, I’ll take it. Wouldn’t you?

Dooley, Conor, and Lorna asked me to express their appreciation for your reading, and have now headed back to bed.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s soon-to-be-ex-manager is currently NOT pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

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