Cats vs. Dogs

I'm a dog person, specifically a big dog person. Now what the rest of you city dwelling folk seem to think of as "big", I usually classify as normal, but to each his own I suppose. There have been a few small dogs I've come across in life that have been cool enough to worm their way into my heart - Taz, Oz, and Mellie come to mind - but I normally don't think twice until your pup hits about 50 lbs. Some day when I'm all grown up with a yard and time to train them I will start with two dogs. The first will be a malamute and his name shall be Atticus. The second, possibly a german shepard (I'm still working out the details on that one), and his name shall be Hiro Protagonist. It will be awesome.

But while I find myself waiting for this grown up life to start, it somehow seems I have become a cat person. Not by choice mind you, well not animal choice that is. See I moved in with a boy that had a cat and with the fact that we are working opposite shifts, I seem to find myself quite often in the company of an orange, 23 lb. pain in the ass named Bill instead of my intended. And, oddly enough, I don't really mind (I mind not seeing the boy as much as I'd like, it's hanging with the cat I'm oddly finding myself okay with just to be clear here).

As the days get darker and the possibility of me getting home from work while there is still natural light in the sky becomes a fading reality, it's nice to walk into the empty house and have something alive and wanting my attention. The extra warmth I get from his constantly wanting to lay directly on my lap helps when your apartment doesn't have the best heating system in the world. He purrs like a diesel engine at times, and it's comforting on quiet nights to have something besides my own thoughts making noise.

But that doesn't mean that I've switched sides. I'm still a dog person, and am confused by cat actions. A few weeks ago when the boy was out of town for the night I woke up at 3 in the morning to Bill making a racket. Running around, mewling, just being a loud ass pain in general. My first thought? Someone is breaking in of course. Because when your dog gets up at 3 in the morning and starts making all kinds of noise it always means something is wrong. So of course I get up and go out, slowly, to see what's happening. Do I find an intruder? Do I find a sick cat in the middle of the floor? No I find Bill wanting to play. That's it, just play. Can you guess who went back to bed cursing up a storm? I'll give ya three guesses and the first two don't count.

And I don't think I'm a fan of all cats. Like my feelings towards kids, I reserve my fandom for a select few felines. I'm also not a fan of litter pebbles tracked all over my wood floors, a habit of walking on my head when the food dish is empty and I'm still sleeping, or having every item of clothing I own covered in orange tabby fur. And it doesn't help that he loves to sleep in the laundry basket. Ah well, this is my life. Internet world - meet Bill (by the way, as a point of reference that basket is large enough to hold about 2.5 loads of laundry.)