Stupid Cats

On Friday night I went to bed a little early because I was getting up early to go rafting the next day. Life can be a little ironic sometimes, though.

I don’t hate cats. I don’t hate animals or pets. I would say that my attitude towards animals is generally respect, toleration, friendliness, and occasionally adoration. I have a hard time justifying ownership of one right now, but I can imagine in the future wanting a dog. All this taken into account, I would say that I get along with pets, but can live just as well without.

Friday night, though, was one of the first times I actually considered harming an animal. It started around 2 a.m. A screaming sound. At first I thought it was coming from the computer, as I had fallen asleep to a TV episode. But the noise didn’t stop and indeed continued to increase in volume. It wasn’t long before I became fully awake and realized that there was a cat outside my window making a horrible racket. I couldn’t ignore it. It was the kind of screaming that makes the silence just as grating as the noise because of the tension waiting for the sound to begin again. The cat would occasionally jump onto the patio, perhaps thinking that I was going to¬† the door. Of course, hearing an animal making such a din does not make me want to run outside and pet it and give it a saucer of warm milk. It was around 2:30 that I considered throwing something at it to convince it to assault someone who didn’t have to get up in 4 hours. It must have known I had prepared a cardboard ball to attack it because it disappeared for half an hour. It returned, though, and I endured a few more minutes of what could only be the pain of crucifixion.

In the end, the cat never felt the wrath of my foot or my weapon, but if she comes back again tonight, I may solidify my position as a dog person.

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