So I spent the past weekend weekend in Las Vegas for my birthday. It was awesome, I had a great birthday. I was there with three of my best friends and we had a blast. But my trip is not the point of this story. The point of my story is that I own a cat and that I am not sure that I will ever like owning a cat.
(Okay just one picture of my Vegas trip.... Now it is time for my cat story)
Now how did my Vegas trip lead to me deciding that I am not meant to own a cat? Well that starts with me coming home from my trip and being re-affirmed that I am a total dog person.
I have two pets Doodles and Boris. Doodles is my 7 year old Chihuahua-Jack Russell mix and Boris is a cat. I have no idea what type.
Now before I continue about how I am not a cat person, I should clarify that I like cats in general. Many of my friends have cats that I absolutely adore (Shout out to Jack, Pigeon, and Darmok). But I am not meant to have a cat. All of my life I have had at least one dog, literally my family got their first Rottweiler the day before I was born. Most of the time I have more than one dog, but I have never had a cat before.
About a year and a half ago I decided that I wanted another pet. I decided that I could get a cat, because many of my friends have cats and I enjoy playing with them whenever I get a chance. I love reading Extra Ordinary Comics (Shoelace is like the coolest cat ever). I decided that cats are awesome! So I get Boris.
From the first day, I knew it was not going to be the kitty dream that I had in mind. Boris camped out on top of my refrigerator hissing and attacking anyone that came into the kitchen. He stayed there for 3 days ensuring that no one entered his domain. He has gotten slightly better over the last year, but every now and then he just randomly bites me. Needless to say it owning a cat has not been a hug-fest rainbow party.
So back to my current story. I arrived home Sunday at about 6 pm from what felt like the longest flight ever. (Fuck the Arizona airport). When I walked in Doodles flipped a shit. She was so happy that she ran in circles and climbed all of over me and licked my face. It was like I had been gone for three years not three days. It was awesome. Doodles is the love of my life.
Boris, however I did not see. Later that night I was in bed and Boris came in and sat on my back. He dug is claws into my skull then bit my arm before jumping off of my back so fast that left a large scratch right next to my new tattoo... (That would be the second tattoo he ruined if it had been an inch higher). He then tore through the apartment ripping my clothes out of the suitcase and knocking over everything in his path.
People told me that his actions were his way of showing that he was happy that I was home.... WTF! How does that translate to I miss you? To me that means, "You should sleep with your eyes open because I am going to murder you with my giant kitty claws later tonight". Throughout the whole night he terrorized the entire apartment, he switched back and forth from attacking me while I attempted to sleep, destroying my possessions, and throwing litter out of his box.
(He bit me as soon as the flash went off)
I just do not understand cat affection. I will stick to excited puppy kisses any day.
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