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Wanted: A Man Who Loves Pussy (cats)

I recently asked an ex why men love dogs given they personify all that is deemed undesirable in the opposite sex – needy, dependant, requiring constant validation, easily excitable, unable to contain emotions (not to mention the love of snuggle time). He replied, “They don’t talk and you always have the option of putting them outside.”

An acquaintance once asked her dad “why do most men hate cats?” He responded (apparently not missing a beat), “I think they remind us too much of smart-ass women.”

Both these anecdotes speak of the desire for an ever obedient, adoring and controllable female partner. So what then, can we extrapolate about the man who loves cats? The kind of person he is, and what type of partner does he want?


The 2nd of Nine Lives

When I last saw my physician a year ago I recall joking that all I needed to fulfill the stereotype of the single NYC woman cliché was a cat.

One year and two cats later I lay naked and shivering under a thin paper sheet waiting for Dr. Martin to make his entrance. Listening to the gurgling of a stomach deprived of all but black coffee for 10 odd hours, it occurs to me that the fresh feline scratches edging the landscape of my body might looks suspect, requiring explanation. I wasn’t sure I wanted to divulge their true origins – thereby admitting that I had become a caricature.


They said if I could keep him restrained for five minutes that should do it. Who were they kidding? Two seconds in and my right bicep had already endured multiple lacerations. I was convinced my left eye was in imminent danger. I should have put a shirt on before attempting this. In fact, safety goggles were probably in order. How could an otherwise docile 8 year-old be so strong? Four seconds in and I wasn’t sure how much longer I would last. This is what I get for skipping Total Body, I thought to myself.
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