Today is my cat Biskit’s third birthday. I’ve never heard of a cat who was born in the wintertime, but the vet tech who was on duty when I adopted him said January 15th was his birthday, and that’s what I’m going by.
But I’m not typing up this post to celebrate Biz’s birthday because, well, I’m not actually celebrating his birthday. I rarely recognize humans’ birthdays, let alone the birth anniversary of a cat. The pet people I know seem to be absolutely HORRIFIED when I tell them that I don’t get my cats gifts for their birthday, or for Christmas, or for any other special occasion. How can I be so mean?
I guess I’m just an overly practical person who sees absolutely no reason to celebrate something that the honoree will never understand anyway. I don’t care how smart you think your pet is, it has no concept of what a birthday is, or a holiday. A cat knows of only two times…. feeding time and nappy time. If it gets fed and gets to sleep, it will get all that it ever wants any particular day of the year.
Pet owners celebrate birthdays and holidays with pets for one reason… to satisfy themselves. And I’m not necessarily knocking that…. if that’s what makes you happy, by all means, spoil the hell out of your pet! Just don’t look at me like some Satan worshiper because I choose not to buy things for my cat’s birthday that I could just as easily buy them any other time of year when they actually need it.
And now the discussion gets into a topic that really gets my bushy tail in a frizzy uproar….
I have two cats, and I absolutely adore them. I feed them, and provide them a roof over their heads, and take them to the vet regularly (and that’s money I’d rather not spend), and even spend what time I can pull myself away from the computer with them. They may tear up my furniture, gak all over my carpet, and dig their claws into my tender skin… but they’re nice to have around when you live by yourself. I love my cats.
But they are not….. I repeat….. they are NOT MY KIDS!!!!!!
Oh my God, I fucking hate it when people make that reference….
If I hear the word furbaby one more time, I will go find a puppy and kick it. I am no creature’s father.
My Dad is quite guilty of calling my cats his “grandkids” when he comes over. Sorry Dad, it’s not my fault you had five kids and only have two teenage grandchildren to show for it. You may not borrow my cats to fulfill your strange grandparental needs.
At least he doesn’t bring over gifts for them. The girl I got Ody and Spilly from several years ago brought over one of those silly cat stockings we sell at my store the first Christmas I had the cats. I think I finally opened it a few years later, and only because the 37128933 plastic balls my cats had to play with were all under the chair, or the couch, or the icebox, or the bed, or the computer desk, or under my feet as I tried to walk through the house.
But if you think I am being mean to my cats in favor of the squirrels, think again. Right now it is about 20 degrees outside, and I’m sure all of the bushy rodents out there are a tad chilly. Well, I know they are because MBRS just knocked on my door to ask if she could borrow some Chapstick for her teats. Meanwhile, my kitty cats are curled up together on the comfy chair with a blanket I let them use in the living room where it is a much toastier 67 degrees. That’s one of the benefits of not running away from me when I try to take silly pictures of you…
So in closing, keep this in mind. I have cats, not kids. They have birthdays that are fun to note, but do not require any shopping. And despite all that supposed harshness, I still take pretty good care of them and they have it a lot better than some of their other feline cousins who walk the streets for catnip or are locked up in the penitentiary. And if that isn’t good enough for all of the holier than thou cat lovers out there who think I am a cruel pet owner, well then you are more than free to come pick Ody and Biskit up if you can do a better job than me…..