The Truth About Cats And Dogs

I don't believe I've ever brought this topic up explicitly on my blog before, but it's been just below the surface of many of my posts.  Several of my friends know about this leaning of mine, and accept me as I am.  

It's not been from a fear of judgement from wider society as such, although it is a subject that's been known to divide people. I'm not ashamed.  And I think it's high time that I get this out of the way before it becomes too big a burden to bear:

I love pussy.

....cats.  I love pussy cats.  I MUCH prefer them to dogs.  And my love for them isn't the sweet "I appreciate that fluffy thing's cuteness" kind of love.  If a black cat crosses my path, it's bad luck.

For the cat.

Because I will make a beeline for it and aggressively attempt to become best friends with it.  If it has the further misfortune/ stupidity to come close enough to me, it will be smothered within an inch of its nine fuzzyfuzzymuchcute lives. I am the grown up equivalent of one of those hamster squeezer children.

Picture that kid from Finding Nemo.  Remove the braces and the fish obsession, add twenty years and an intense affection for felines and you've got me.

"KITTY, WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING?!"

Many people opt for canine company instead.  While I appreciate the bouncy Funtime energy a dog can bring into a home, I also enjoy being able to give them back to their owners at the end of the day when I tire of their antics and drooling.

I feel similarly about human children.

Here is a short list of reasons why cats are infinitely better companions than dogs (and children, if you like):

1. Poop Shame:  Dogs will happily defacate with a look of either contentment or mild surprise out in the open, and not give any further shits about the (fecal) matter. 

lolpunsamsofunny.

Cats are suitably ashamed and grossed out by their own excrement, giving them a British "oh, I do apologise!  Please, let me remove it from sight in your shoe, I am disgusting. Sorry. So terribly sorry!" air about them.  

2. Affection Roulette:  cats keep you on your toes.  Unlike dogs, who love you so relentlessly that it makes you want to punch them in their soppy faces (note: I have never actually punched a dog in It's soppy face).  You never know if you're going to get kitty cuddles or a claw to the eyeball.  And that makes life much more interesting. Cats are permanently PMSing and I can fully identify with that.

"I LOVE you! I HATE you! I want to eat. Now I need to nap.  Come here so I can rip your face into tiny pieces!!  Purr purr. Nice human. FUCK YOU!!"

3. La La La Not Listening: Dogs will stare at you while you chat away to them, like you are both made out of bacon and the smartest most cleverest person ever ever ever.  If your prattling becomes too much for the cat to bear, he will promptly present you with its butt and shimmy off elsewhere until he decides you are interesting/ useful again.  This is very humbling and admirably sassy.  Humans should follow the way of the cat. 

Next time you're at that business meeting that is of no interest to you? Turn tail, buttocks to speaker and shimmy shimmy shimmy away.  You'll score a promotion for your the bluntness of your feelings. Or get fired.  

4. Fluffy Procrastination Machines:  While dogs are generally eager to please us hoomans, and, especially if well trained, happy to put in the work to impress, cats will actively encourage their owners to do less stuff.  The fact that we work seems to both amuse and annoy them.  If you have a cat anywhere in the house, even if you're nowhere near it, get out a pen and notepad and begin to write.  I'll bet you actual money that in less than ten minutes, there will be a cat ass on your notbook and paws batting at your biro.

5.  Loookadisface!!!

His name is Walter.  I love him.  He tolerates me. 

Let's Take This Outside...or...Why I Hate The Gym

Been a bit sluggish on the post front lately.  Apologies.  I fully blame my sister for introducing me to Girls (TV series, not potential same-sex mates).  My need for this programme is so all-encompassing that I just watched a full episode in between writing this sentence and the one before it.  I cannot be helped.

Sorry, another one happened.  

What was I going to write about?  

Oh, yeah. I went to the gym this week! *muffled fanfare*  

I hated it.  HATED it.  You know when once in a while, you go to an old haunt you frequented in your teen years because it was the only place in town that served booze to minors?  

Yeah, you doooo, don't give me that!  

Well, the gym reminded me of that kind of nostalgia.  You think it'll be fun.  That because you enjoyed it sooo much when you used to go there (at least you think you enjoyed it, otherwise why did you spend every weekend there?), then why don't you still go there now? 

And then you go.  And then you remember why you don't go there now.

Reason I went was because it was especially crappy outdoors, and I had ten miles that needed bashing out at some point this week.  Plus, I'd started my annual weighing up of the pros and cons about getting a membership for doing that cross training thing that I've heard so much about.  

Now, I don't want to offend any gym worshipers - I appreciate that the gym is a haven for many, and a social hub, and I admire your dedication and willpower for going regularly, but Christ, I found it frustrating to be there!  

I went along with a friend who had the same mileage to do.  For the duration of our visit, he happily bounced the miles away on the treadmill, whereas I rage-quit after half an hour (an impressive feat for me - I wanted to break the machine apart with my bare hands after ten minutes), and then half heartedly played on some machines I'm not even sure that I used correctly.

Aforementioned friend found me two hours later, sadly pedaling away on a stationary bike and starting listlessly into my Kindle.

Karl Pilkington - The Moaning Of Life, if interested.

I want to leave myself a list of reasons here of why I hate the gym, so I can avoid further bouts of murder-rage should I begin to entertain the idea of signing up again.  

So. 

 Dear future Becky:

1.  Repeatedly doing the same movement over and over whilst not going ANYWHERE makes your body angry with you, the world and everybody in it.  YOU ARE NOT A HAMSTER.  You do not require a hamster wheel.

2.  People don't like it when you start watching them because you are not moving ANYWHERE and therefore have no scenery to take in.  They do not understand that the reason behind your stares is that you want something, anything to look at that's not a wall or a frosted window.  They think you are judging them/ogling their goodies. 

3.  You don't know how 90% of the machines work.  And yes, you do look like a knob trying to figure it out just because you're too much of a proud wussy to ask the nice staff.  That thing you used to make your arms hurt a bit?  Probably for toning your butt, or face, or something.  Just give up.

4.  It frustrates and irritates you that you have zero control over what music they play in there and that every music video that matches the songs on the TV screens boasts body shapes that you will never obtain, even if you lived in the gym and lived off protein shakes and awesomeness for the whole year.  Even if you lost all of your body fat and got hair extensions, you still won't be Iggy Azalea (sp?!), because you are five foot three and she has at least sixteen feet's worth of legs... Measurement feet, not actual.  Although exotic, Iggy Azalea is not many legged spider creature.

5.  The weights area will always terrify you.  You will hover around its boundaries, wimp out, and then stare wistfully at it as you sadly toil away on the rowing machine until the clicking in your knees drives you mental.

There.  Hopefully that will save future me some time and money.  

Went for a ten miler today in weather ten times worse than what it was on the fateful gym night.  

The wind was howling, the sky was grey and it intermittently hailed and rained.  My feet kept feeling like they were being blown out from underneath me.  I had to actually climb over a fallen tree to keep going along the route I'd chosen, and several people made a point of pointing out how deranged I was for bimbling around in it.  

And I LOVED it!  A normal long run became an obstacle course, and because I was unsure of my footing, splashing through puddles (weee!), and had to keep an eye out on where my feet were landing, the time flew.  And I even got some extra distance in when my hat blew away a couple of times.

And that's another thing.  This was the first run I've ever worn a hat during - It was a revelation!  I had no idea that being buffeted in the face by rainwater and hail was optional.  Hurrah for peaked hats!

I know everyone's different, and they enjoy to exercise (or not - that's okay too.  I love a sofa as much as, if not more than anyone.  S'up, sofa surfers! *poorly executed gang sign*) in a way uniquely preferable to them.  And I reckon it's not until you try something that you hate with so much fervor that it actually gives you energy that you figure out what it is that you really, really like doing.  And I really, really like putting my stretchy pants on and lolloping off out the door and pounding the pavements, whatever the weather.  

Bring it on, wind! I don't fear you anymore!!




.....I really hope that someone skim reading this post doesn't think it's about my heroic conquering of flatulence.  That's another post entirely.