Dog My Cats

     I’m a normal American guy, with normal American urges and opinions.
     I think.
     So what I want to know is, why are the rules different for dogs and cats?
     This has nothing to do with my big dog, and Jane’s three little cats.
     OK, maybe it has something to do with it.
     Now, some of the rules about dogs and cats are different for a reason.
     I think we can all agree that any normal American guy would, and does, sing classic rock songs to his dog, substituting the dog’s name (Chester) for the girl, or the car, or the mom, or whatever the word is in the song.
     That’s normal behavior.
     As is dancing with one’s dog.
     Or taking him fishing.
     Or having heart-to-heart talks with a dog on a long drive.
     Or doing a fifth step with a dog.
     Or whatever.
     That’s normal guy-dog behavior.
     Whereas, it would be weird for a guy to do that with a cat.
     Why is it, then, that cats are allowed to drag animals into the kitchen – dead animals, half-dead, quarter-dead, quartered animals, and so on – and whack them around under the table?
     And the cats’ only punishment for this is that Jane hollers, “Robert!”
     And I go pick them up.
     Not the cats.
     The pieces of animals.
     But this is Normal Cat Behavior, so it’s OK.
     Not that I am suggesting that cats be punished.
     No, no.
     It does no good to punish a cat.
     Cats should never be punished. Because cats are superior beings to humans.
     Ask any cat.
     Or any girl who has a cat.
     Now, my dog never drags half-dead wild animals into the house, to torture them in the kitchen.
     Should my dog (Chester) ever drag a half-dead animal into the house, I presume it would be a wolverine, or a badger, or a porcupine, or some equivalent animal.
     Wouldn’t that be cool?
     I mean terrible. Wouldn’t that be terrible?
     But it would be a fair fight.
     However, should Chester ever duke it out with a wolverine in the kitchen, do you suppose – does anyone suppose? – that after I scraped up the pieces, Chester – and I – would be forgiven?
     At once? Like the cats are forgiven?
     I think we all know the answer to that.
     My dog and I would not be forgiven.
     We would be reminded about it for the rest of our lives.
     Why is it then, that day after day our cats can drag mice and chipmunks and moles and toads into the kitchen for a little torture session, while the other cats look on in silent approbation? And the cats never …
     Hold on …
     Wait a minute …
     Excuse me.
     I’m sorry.
     I have to go.
     It seems I have some chores to do.

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