Cat people and Dog people

Because we love controversy here at the Domestique, I've decided it's high time to wade waste deep into the greatest controversy of them all: are you a cat person or a dog person, and why?

This needs to be qualified a bit. Obviously, there are those who hate all animals. These people need to be dismissed from the conversation right away. Truth is, you can't trust a person who doesn't like animals. People who hate animals irk me. They always come across as self-righteous counterculturalists, who are just soooo cool for not like cats OR dogs. Here is what I have to say to those people: you're dumb and I probably don't like you. So be quiet.

And then there are people who like both cats and dogs, and I think to some extent if you like one you probably don't hate the other (although some dog people definitely hate cats, which makes zero sense to me: how can you like one stupid inbred animal but not the other? Answer: you can't, this is actually a self-contradictory point of view of someone trying to have it both ways, being a player AND a hater... and the Domestique hates nothing, if not player haters).

So which am I? Cat person, obviously. You can probably tell this by my scintillating vocab, my provoking thoughtfulness, and my sporadic nature. That's right, I am basically saying smart people are cat people, simpletons are dog people. Why do I say that? Ask a cat person why they like cats and they will probably say something on the order of: "Oh, they are so independent; they can be trained to pizz/shat in a bucket of sand in the corner of my laundry room; they don't need my attention all the time and yet they still love it some of the time; they are smart, wily, fun, sassy, and all other things cat-like." Cats are complex, deep, mysterious, and yet still awful darn cute and playful. These are the people who voted for Gore/Kerry. Ask a dog person why they like dogs, and you get some generally long, drawn-out, overly verbose (like this blog) response synonymous with: "Dogs are loyal; they are personable; and they can scare away the neighbors in times of imminent danger." These people voted for W. Bush... TWICE!!!

There, controversial enough?

This joke basically illustrates my point (hat-tip to max's mom)...

Excerpts from a Dog's Diary

8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00pm - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

Excerpts from a Cat's Diary

Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards! There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now...