I need to get something off my chest. I’m not just talking about the crumbs from the party pie I just ate lying down. It’s a confession. An admission that I struggle with on a regular basis, and have finally decided to stop concealing. Here it is, I'm just going to say it.
I like cats. That’s a major understatement – I frigging love cats. Ladies and Gentlemen... I am a Cat Person.
You see, the reason I keep this concealed is because of the unpredictable response. I’m looking at you, Dog Person. Now, I quite like canines. I never had one growing up, but I’m not opposed to their happy nature and licky love, despite a scary experience as a kid. When I was about five, a friend had a big St Bernard dog. One day, the dog stood looking at me for about two minutes. That’s the reality. But in my over-imaginative memory, a rabid dog with blood and saliva dripping from his fangs snarled and snapped at me for hours as I cowered under a chair. Despite that scarring experience, I still like most dogs (though I’m scared of that Beethoven fella). And even if I didn’t, I would never criticise dogs to a Dog Person. So why do we Cat People get so much shit??
|If you want an awesome half hour, google 'Cat memes'. I did and I'm NOT ASHAMED.|
Cats are great. I GET them. They like cuddles with the person that provides them food. They like stretching their backs. They reeeeeally like napping. I’m a fur coat and a meow away from being a cat myself. The happiest day of my life began when my Mum and I found four one-day-old kittens in a gutter, getting eaten by ants (not such a good day for them... but wait, it ends well). We took them home and I got to snuggle them for SIX WEEKS. They opened their eyes after a few days to Mum and I smothering them with love – I bottle-fed them, tucked them in, named them, took photos of them, and floated on a cloud of happiness for a month and a half. Winky (not a euphemism, he had one eye open when we found him) sadly died after a week (yeah... it didn’t end well for all of them...), but the other three went to happy Cat Person homes.
|My Dad holding the happiest moments of my life.|
Despite the warm and fuzziness of this little anecdote, I know that it’s only for a selective audience, because only a Cat Person wants to hear a cat story. A Dog Person wants to call me a crazy cat lady, tell me about feral cats and allergies, and ironically not show any of the non-judgemental happy nature and licky love that their beloved canine friends possess. Well, Dog People, I’m singing out loud and proud. I love cats, and I’m no longer going to be ashamed of it. I have even typed ‘kitten videos’ into YouTube more than once. I’ve got other confessions too. Things that I hesitate to admit, not just to Dog People, but to All People. Until now. Deep breath...
I love Hanson’s song MMMbop and I still listen to it regularly. And Human Nature. And B*Witched.
I still occasionally sleep with my teddy bear, and I apologise to her sometimes because I fear she feels rejected.
I love the show Toddlers and Tiaras.
Growing up, I had major crushes on Aaron Carter*, Ian Thorpe and the red-headed Planeteer, Wheeler.
I hold my breath when I go past cemeteries, and I try to hide it from passengers in my car by being really subtle (until now).
I don’t really know what superannuation** is.
I have made a wish upon a star pretty much every day of my life that I can remember.
I’d rather listen to Gold FM than Triple J.
I believe in the existence of aliens, a parallel universe, ghosts, fate, and Santa’s workshop (but not necessarily Santa... it’s hard to articulate).
I love Harry Potter. Like... I LOVE Harry Potter.
That’s enough confessions for now. It feels good to get all of that off my crumb-covered chest. Fingers crossed I don’t die of shame overnight. But just in case I do, if I have any friends left – Cat People, Dog People, secret-shamers or Triple J fans – please know that I love you.
And cats. I love you, cats.
*This is one of the biggest confessions of all, because I pretended to my best friends that the poster of Aaron Carter on my wall was only to cover up a crack in the plaster. Girls – you shamed me for years to try and get the truth, and this is it. I loved that orange-overalled, bowl-haircutted little dork with all of my 11-year-old heart.
**Yes, people have tried to explain it to me. No, I don’t really listen. Superannuation sounds like a superhero, and I prefer to think of him that way.
By Lucy Gransbury. Follow her on Twitter @LucyGransbury. Or follow her in real life. She is probably apologising to her teddy.