“Look at him. He does everything the guy tells him to do and, he begs. He actually BEGS,” she said. “I can’t watch. It’s too humiliating.”
“They’re like that. You’ve seen them a million times, tongues hanging out of their mouths, trotting along, sitting when told to sit. It’s nothing new.”
“You’re right, but still. What’s wrong with them?”
“You did a good job ripping the drapes to shreds, last night,” he said.
“Thank you. She needs to get new ones anyway. I like what you did to the chair.”
“Thank you,” he said. “You didn’t eat the meal she prepared for you either.”
“It smelled delicious but I went out to eat. We can never let them think they own us. They work for us, don’t ever forget that. OMG he’s laying on his back in submission. Look away, look away.”
“His guy is petting him, it’s not a big deal.”
“Would you do that?”
“Of course not! How can you even ask such a thing?” he asked, horrified.
“My point exactly.”
“If he tried to pet my tummy, I’d shred his hands until he was be bleeding all over the place.”
“It’s called self-respect.”
“We are two different species, you know. He can’t help that he’s submissive and eager to please. He sleeps on their bed.”
“We sleep on their pillows, even their faces, when we feel like it. And we don’t have to lower ourselves to do it.”
“He seems happy enough.”
“Can he climb a tree?”
“Not relevant,” he said.
“It could be,” she said, licking her front paw. “If something big was chasing him, or if he wanted something that was sitting on a branch, then it would be relevant. He can’t climb ANYTHING and worse, he doesn’t know how to fall. On top of that, he can’t even keep himself clean and he smells terrible. Have you noticed that he doesn’t go after mice, even when they’re right in front of him. He cases balls and bring them back to the guy who keeps throwing them away again. Like that makes any sense at all. Imagine if your person threw your catnip mouse across the room, over and over again.”
“She would have to get it herself.”
“Yes! We train them to do our bidding, not the other way around.”
“Dogs are just not cats, and vice versa.”
“I’m grateful for that.”
“Are you wearing claw polish?” he asked, surprised.
“Maybe,” she said, unleashing her needle sharp claws. “Do you like the color?”
“Sure, but isn’t that giving in to her?”
“Not really. I knocked over the bottle and rolled in the polish. She had to cut off a bit of my fur but I was in charge the entire time.”
“Look, now they’re running together. I can run faster than that on three legs.”
“I could beat him in a fight.”
“Absolutely. I’ve seen you take down big dogs before.”
“Now I’ll do it with claw polish on.”
“You are one badass feline,” he said admiringly, staring at her tattered ears and the scar on her flank.
“And don’t you EVER forget it,” she purred, rubbing her face against his neck. “We can make one hundred sounds and dogs can only make like three.”
“Not their fault, remember. Different species.”
“I’m SO glad we’re cats.”