Dogs are better than cats. I think we can all agree on that.
At least I thought we could all agree on that, but that was before I moved into an apartment with a girl who had a cat. Don’t get me wrong, the cat didn’t sway my opinion—condescending little f*#ker—but my roommate introduced me to a community of otherwise-rational people who profess their love of cats so consistently that I’m starting to think they’re not being sarcastic.
Apparently, there are millions of Americans who, bless their hearts, genuinely believe that cats are better than dogs. When brought into the cat/dog debate these cat lovers cite pooper-scoopers, fleas, tics, Lyme disease and stupidity—as if those minor canine setbacks somehow make less damning the scientific fact that cats are arrogant assholes that wouldn’t think twice about enslaving the human race if given the opportunity.
For me, the cat/dog debate was settled years ago, somewhere around the time my ex-girlfriend Beth’s ostensibly cute kitten hopped onto the bed and scratched me across the forehead and down to my ear. But some people haven’t been scratched. Some people still need convincing. And, ironically, the people who need the most convincing are the very ones who believe it’s us dog folk (“normals,” as I like to call us) who need to be convinced.
So here’s my point: If we can’t even agree on something as obvious and one-sided as this, how the hell are we ever going to agree on health care?
Let’s get one thing straight: Kittens are no better than cats. Like Rosemary’s Baby, it’s their very youth that makes them so unfortunate and grotesque.
Yes, I’m aware that every day emergency rooms treat over 1,000 Americans for dog bites and that dogs kill around 30 people every year, most of whom are young children. But in the dogs’ defense, those kids had it coming.