I never understood cat owners and cat worshipers. But still I decided to figure out why they love cats so much.
I never understood cat owners and cat worshipers. I did not imagine their inner world. I always kept my distance from cats – besides, even on the threshold of a foggy youth, I heard from an allergist that me and cats are incompatible things.
Several times fate brought with the “catwoman”. As a rule, this is an insinuating cat-themed souvenir collector, purring out of place and out of place, putting her right to “walk by herself” above all else. At home, of course, she also constantly meows something and tears up the carpet.
The stories of our relationship had one plot: first, touching avatars in social networks, and then, after that, claw marks where people usually scratch cats. Catwomen seemed to me the embodiment of deceit and selfishness.
My close acquaintance with cats took place at a more mature age, when I was already a mature person and capable of an unbiased assessment of the phenomenon. From friends (family) began to receive requests to live with their pets in the absence of the owners, feed them and warm them with warmth for some time. And with the accumulation of experience, I began to understand that my initial view of the problem, to put it mildly, was superficial.
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Cats are complex creatures. And, accordingly, the life of their owners could not be simple.
The cases that I share below, as they say, took place in reality. However, since the secret of private life is sacred to me, I will not use the real names of the cats with whom I lived.
I will call my first supervised person Writer (he especially liked to leave notes on a leather sofa, which I then hysterically tried to scrape off). However, he could well go to psychologists, and to teachers.
Intelligent. Usually lay on a thick literary magazine, which was edited by the owners.
Tactful. He tried not to advertise his supervision over me. True, in the evenings he could not stand it – he jumped into my bed to check if everything was in order. The photographs show: in order to be on the same wavelength with me, he copied my facial expression (it would be better if he did not). He begged for food obviously not from hunger, but because that is the order. So that there was then something to respect me for.
The Writer had only one shortcoming: the habit of yelling in the middle of the night in a terrible thick voice in the next room. It seemed that there was a monster a meter high at the withers. I suppose that his own line of behavior (to be a person, and not anyhow, but good and understanding) terribly exhausted him. So when the darkness deepened, he just allowed himself to relax a little and be himself.
The second cat – let’s call him the Artist – was young and playful. In the middle of the night, he screamed and asked to go to the bedroom, threw my mobile phone off the table on the floor, which, of course, fell apart (case, battery, cover), and drove them across the floor with his paw.
He perceived every action of mine as a game personally with him and in general could not be left without attention for a long time. If I sat at the computer and forgot about it, the Artist ran up from behind, jumped on me, grabbed my back with his claws, then ran to the kitchen and, trembling with horror, hid under the sink behind the trash can. Like, I am a poor unfortunate cat and now they will beat me brutally. Fear and trembling! Humiliated and insulted!
Somehow I was introduced to a Persian cat (we will call him the Orientalist). He no longer slept on magazines, but on scientific monographs. Look, as befits a “Persian”, he had a regal and obnoxious.
The owners woke up early in the morning with a blow to the face with a paw. Claws, thanks, did not release. Belonging to the cat aristocracy was a complete martyrdom for the Orientalist. The “Persian” is known to get sick if the owner does not put a medicinal composition into his eyes, does not comb his hair with two types of brushes and does not wash him three times a week with different shampoos. Of course, the Orientalist himself could not stand these ceremonies and, sensing the approach of a bath, hid under the sofa, but he could not sit out for a long time and eventually fell into the master’s hands.
However, did this oriental despot live only for himself? Certainly not. Orientalist languishes without worship. In particular, he could not eat alone – without spectators, he would starve to death in front of a bowl full of food.
Of course, I do not believe all stories about cats. For example, the story about the banderovka cat, which, for trying to impose a St. George ribbon on it, broke two ribs in its owner and overturned the closet, raises doubts.
But I think I got the main message right. For the most part, these creatures show their cuteness only when they are hungry and know that you and only you are standing on the distribution. Having sated, the affectionate and sensitive angels begin to scratch and bite. Only neuroses make them human.
My personal picture of the world, previously stable and simple, began to become more complex. I realized that cat worshipers and cat owners can never be selfish. On the contrary, their life is a selfless service to beings who are capable of loving only themselves.
If there is a cat, then the husband is no longer a problem. The husband understands human speech, can realize his own mistakes, is capable of caring and gratitude. Just to get along with the cat.