I hated cats (until I got some)

Despite all the scratches, somehow it’s worth it.

These little monsters captured my heart. - SUBMITTED
These little monsters captured my heart.

I fucking hate cats.

I've been suspicious of them as long as I can remember. What other creature bores into you—with not only contempt, but satisfaction—as it licks its own junk? What other animal slinks its warm little body up against you, only to plunge its curling blades into your unsuspecting flesh the minute you relax?

A friend (who fears and despises cats) once told me it's as if they can smell her anxiety, singling out her among cat lovers and attacking with persistent, merciless panache. Specifically, she once attended her boyfriend's family reunion and within minutes the family cat had launched itself—claws out—onto her FACE.

So yes. I've said it. Fuck cats.

Now that we've cleared this matter up, there's something else I must address. I've recently become the owner of two tiny kittens. You can imagine my confusion.

They are brother and sister (we think) and at about 13 weeks of age, have developed a routine of frantically marathon racing after each other on the bed at about 5am, each morning.

A few weeks back, we were at a farm, when our five-year-old pointed to two little cats, and announced: "That's them."

One, sleek and black with big green eyes, the other a pale orange with eyes of milky blue and feet that looked like a cartoon image of paws. They were all tangled up in each other, right in the middle of a mess of 10 other kittens.

"That's them," our son said again.

He'd been talking about the two cats we'd have some day for months. He even had names for them. Each time he brought it up I was more puzzled, probably looking like a slightly female version of Rodney Dangerfield with a dumb 'Huh?!' face on. Not only did I hate cats, SO DID HE.

But I was powerless against him, and his brother's insistence, that these were in fact, "our" cats. In the end, we took them home.

Even now as I type this one of the little pricks is projecting itself onto my back and scaling my body like one of those lithe boastful fuckers at Seven Bays on the climbing wall.

What the hell is happening to me?

I'm not even bothered. I can't explain it but somehow, despite all the fuckery, it's worth it. You should probably get a cat.

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