Cats Are Lowkey The Worst


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Nice Move


There’s a solid chance I will end up alone. That is the harsh reality of a girl with intimacy issues and a dry (read: rude) sense of humor. I have accepted my fate — in fact, I look forward to it. But one thing I will not tolerate is entertaining the idea of becoming a crazy cat lady.

I despise cats. But more than that, I despise cat people. They don’t make sense to me. They’re like vegans, in that they always bring their feline friends up in a conversation that has no business being there. And the worst part? They always insist their cat is different.

Get ready for a cold dose of reality, because your cat is an asshole. And so are you for insisting I pet that mop of an animal. All cats are assholes. “My cat is actually really chill,” they’ll delude themselves. “He acts like a dog.” But no, it doesn’t. You know what acts like a dog? A fucking dog. Your cat is a snooty bitch that hisses at passers-by and acts like an entitled little shit. No exceptions.

On my campus, we have a famous cat. Everyone stops to take pictures with the thing, and it even has its own Instagram. Without fail, every time we see it roaming around like it owns the place, my friends insist I hold it. When I respectfully decline, they get offended. As if my distaste alone is ruining the sanctity of our unofficial mascot.

When I go to my friends’ houses with cats they immediately go into a speech about how if I gave their cat a chance, I would love it. They make it their personal goal to make me love the animal that doesn’t even love them. Sorry that I am not impressed by your beta animal that shits in a box. Sorry, I don’t find the screech it makes as it claws the face of its owner to be endearing. Just let me treat it like it treats me, by shooting death glares at each other from across the room and then refusing to acknowledge each others presence.

So why all the hate? This isn’t an article declaring the superiority of dogs over cats. That’s completely unnecessary, seeing as we already know it to be true. (Except for poodles. Fuck your pansy-ass poodle.) This is because every single person I have declared my distaste to has made it their personal mission to change my mind. But the thing is, that’s not going to happen. I will never, ever say “I hate all cats except that dope one Sydney has.” And frankly, the more you obsess over proving me wrong, the more I solidify my belief.

I remember when my old roommate told me she was planning on adopting a cat. Of course, the common living areas are outside my jurisdiction, but I campaigned hard for our house to be a feline-free zone nonetheless. “You’ll love it!” she tried in vain to convince me, “you’ll snuggle with it every night!” To which I warned her if that thing ever entered my room, I would cunt-punt it off the balcony.

Can we just make a deal? I won’t openly berate your “furry child” as long as you keep it out of my face. I know you love your cat, I know that you think because your cat acknowledged you once back in ’09 you share a special bond that I couldn’t possibly understand. Your cat will be there when yet another guy ghosts on you, and it truly does see you as more than just a servant to deliver its nibble and scoop its buried shit. Sure.

But as for me, I will not put all my energy into trying to get it to love me. I believe that there is a dream that there will be a time that cats and I can live in harmony. I’ll drink my wine, and they’ll chase mice or eat lasagna or do whatever bullshit activity cats do. But until that day, the war wages on.

Blondie excels at being an underachiever. She is currently trying to add an extra year onto her undergrad so she can continue to down $7 bottles of wine in an environment that encourages her erratic behavior. After graduation, she has big plans to flunk out of a prestigious law school. Email her compliments and Netflix suggestions at

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