Dave: Cool for Cats

Some of us fellas put great stock by our relationships. We regard them as a mutual bond between two devoted parties. An eternal flame which requires the constant use of bellows to avoid going out. A sacred unification of two equal parts fusing together to form a greater whole.

To the guys out there who consider themselves of this ilk there is one piece of advice I offer. A truly essential snippet of counsel you must heed. Whether it’s your first date at a particularly luxurious branch of Pizza Express (no expense spared on toppings). Or if you’ve reached the stage where she’s already seen you crashed out on the sofa in your pants playing Xbox for eleven hours straight. Before you go any further with this woman you need to know this: is she a cat lover or a dog lover?

Ideally you’re looking for a dog lover. Indifference towards either beast works just as well. A mild preference toward the feline and you could be safe. However, if she starts pulling out photos of Mr. Grumpykins, the fattest, cutest cat in town, get the hell out. Don’t bother paying the bill, just go. Ignore the fact you’re one game away from doing the treble with Accrington Stanley on Champ Man, leave your trousers lying in the middle of the floor and head for the door. This relationship, my friend, is no good for you.

You see, in most instances, cat lovers tend to be dog haters. They detest the loyal, obedient, trusting nature of our canine companions. They perceive the friendly, fun-filled frolickers as weak-minded saps. Where’s the mystique, they ask. The ambiguous attitude? The hateful scratch marks across the cheek?

Cat lovers like their men bad. They are the ‘three-letter C’s’ types of women: Cats, Cars and Cads. Coincidence? Perhaps. Nevertheless, they prefer the obvious charms of a well-groomed, furry-testicled self-obsessive. The self-flagellating excitement of knowing that puss has only returned from his philandering for some ready-made grub and a place to crash. All the while swooning over the mutual understanding that should the cook-cum-litter tray attendant get a little over familiar, he has the freedom to fuck off into the night.

Where do you think the old spinster stereotype and her harem of mewing moggies originated? These women weren’t too shy during their days of courtship. They didn’t undertake a vow of celibacy. Far from it. They were simply attracted to the worst types of users and bruisers around. Any man willing to open his heart to them or show respect never stood a chance.

In truth, these women don’t even know what they want. The dog may appear broken-in on first evaluation but its sophistication is unquestionable. Sure his hair get into the strangest of places and his chronic flatulence is less than desirable when friends come to visit. But, the potential for danger is always there, lying understated beneath an erudite surface. After all, what’s the worst a tabby can do other than obstinately plonk himself down on the exact part of the Sunday paper you were trying to read?

Well, that’s as it may be. But, she’ll never change her mind. So dispense with your faith in a fruitful relationship. Once a cat lover, always a cat lover.