by Jonathan B. Perry
I take umbrage at the idea that there’s something ‘funny’ about single men with cats. That’s utterly preposterous. If you consider that cats are more like women and dogs are more like men, it would only make sense that dog-men cope a little too well with other ‘men’ when they should be learning to cope with women by way of cats. How is a cat like a woman? Evil. No, just kidding! Haha! You know how you reach out to pet a cat when you’re sitting at a slight distance? At some point the cat will get comfortable and maneuver to just be out of reach, though seemingly still interested in the petting ceremony. You can tell that the cat still wants to be petted or at least looks anxious to be petted, but then you think to yourself, “Does the cat really want me to work harder to come to her?” “Does she not want me to come to her?” or “Is she mocking me?” or “Should I buy her jewelry?”
When my cat was alive, I’d find myself superimposing feelings of frustration for women onto her, which was pretty useful. I could have an imaginary argument with my mom or sister-in-law and manifest it live through interaction with Callie the calico kitty. For instance, in the absence of proper mental therapy, I might perceive a rough cat meow as the nagging beseeching of my mother, whereupon I’d presume to tell the cat where she could stuff her guilt trip (just an example, mom).This could in itself be a fantastic therapeutic device, because I’d feel the freedom to talk back without the normal consequences of human retribution (silent treatment). Not only would this make the cat a woman, but a therapist as well. Maybe a female therapist. How exciting.
(Wow. That’s a lot of cat art. I’ll totally have to write some now about sports or testicles or something masculine because the site has been suddenly overrun with cats & glamorous ladies.)
(Thanks to my brother, Jay Perry, for the ‘No Cats’ art. And for doing ‘The Safety Dance’. Do it now!)
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