If I Can't Have a Man...

I think what I need is a cat.

This may come as a surprise to my family. It certainly comes as a surprise to myself. If one accepts the premise that the world is irreconcilably divided between Cat People and Dog People (and yes, I know this is yet another of those false dichotomies that we perpetuate in our need to give order to our disordered existence), then I have always stood firmly on the side of the Dog People.

I have many reasons for this, some rational and some not. My family has owned three dogs since I was born (four, if you count Wag, my dad’s dog who lived with Grandma and Grandpa when my dad left for a mission, then school, then marriage and family), and because of my dad’s allergies we have never owned a cat. So family loyalty plays into my pet orientation. In addition, when I spent the night at my best friend’s house in elementary school, I discovered that I had inherited my dad’s allergies, and it’s very difficult to learn to love cats when you can’t touch them without itchy eyes and fits of sneezing for hours afterward.

But there’s more to it than family and allergies. Anyone who acknowledges the distinction between Cat People and Dog People must also acknowledge that the distinction involves more than a simple difference in pet preferences. Cat People are certain kinds of people, just as Dog People are certain kinds of people. When I think of Cat People, I think of solitude, single women, knitting, reading, staying indoors, drinking (herbal) tea, floral décor, refined culinary abilities, distractedness, and small apartments in the city. When I think of Dog People, I think of walking through autumn leaves on the sidewalk, stopping to chat with the neighbors, tossing balls in the park, children, yards, casseroles and cookies, ordered chaos, and suburban tract housing. I suppose I don’t have much basis for these distinctions. I’m sure there are plenty of cat owners who like to go for walks in the park in the fall (albeit without their cat), and plenty of dog owners who like flower-print drapes. And it’s not that I don’t identify with my definition of a Cat Person (I do like to curl up with a good book) or that I identify completely with the Dog People. But overall, the Dog People seem inherently more appealing to me.

Besides, everyone knows that once a single woman gets herself a cat, she’s pretty much resigned herself to perpetual reclusive singlehood.

And yet…

It all started sometime last fall, I think. The weather was beginning to cool down and I when opened the door one morning to head out on my daily run, I unexpectedly encountered a cat waiting just outside the door to try to squeeze its way inside.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I said, pushing it (him?) gently with my foot as I stepped out. He lingered hopefully around the door, and then rubbed his head endearingly against my leg, and I felt coldhearted ignoring him, even if it was only because I knew touching him put me at risk of allergies. So I bent down and stroked him for a minute or two or three (against all my better judgment). And when I pulled myself away and trotted off up the street to warm up, the cat surprised me by following right along next to me. It wasn’t for long—half a block, maybe—but it was enough to put ideas in my head.

I often imagined that as soon as I graduated (again) from BYU, I would head off to whatever grad school I’d chosen, find my own apartment, and get myself a dog. Maybe even a running dog. But real life sort of overcame my dreaming as I quickly realized that, as a PhD student, I would have neither time nor financial resources to lavish on a needy puppy. Still, for several years now I’ve longed for something to take care of and keep me company, and if I can have neither husband nor children, an animal might do quite nicely in the meantime. I admit that I get nervous about my capacity to care for living things. After all, I’ve killed every plant I’ve ever owned. But animals are much more adept than greenery at letting you know they’re there, and I feel strongly that I’d be more successful with a small, semi-independent animal that with a potted plant.

Yesterday my need to care for a living creature bubbled up within me as I walked past PetCo on my way to the grocery store and I very nearly succumbed to the temptation to buy myself a fish, until I remembered that owning a fish goes against my most deeply rooted tenets of pet ownership, and that fish are, in reality, little better than plants, and are quite possibly worse because their death happens suddenly rather than gradually. I’d probably feel a lot guiltier upon finding a dead fish floating in its murky water bowl than I’d feel upon realizing that, at long last, the brown leaves vastly outnumber the green on my houseplant.

This brings me back to cats. The thing about cats is that I’ve never really thought seriously about owning one. I’ve always just assumed that because of my allergies I could not possibly own a cat and so I was unquestionably free to be a dog person, and to be decidedly not a cat person. But when I encountered the cat before my run a year ago, I suddenly realized that maybe I did like cats after all. And when I finally acknowledged that my current life situation was not conducive to owning a dog, I also begrudgingly acknowledged that a cat would be a pretty ideal pet for me right now as a busy, apartment-dwelling graduate student. And when someone told me that Siamese cats don’t bother people with cat allergies (and this is debatable—I’ve since researched the claim), I finally let myself imagine the possibility, and found it surprisingly appealing.

There are still obstacles that will prevent me from doing anything drastic. Like the fact that my current apartment doesn’t allow pets (this would be easily remedied if I could marry off my roommate, thus providing a convenient excuse to search for other, pet-friendly housing). Or that I’m really not sure I’m willing to be the sole owner of a dependent creature. Or that Siamese cats aren’t necessarily allergy-friendly (I’ve done my research), and it would be hard to know if allergies would be a problem without actually living with one for awhile. Or that if I can’t even come up with a good name for my car, I can’t possibly hope to come up with a good name for a pet.

But who knows? If I manage hang around here long enough, I just might give in…