My dad was a dog guy. I mean, while he never kept any dog for long before getting tired and wanting a “better” one, dogs were all we had. I always heard him say that cats were stupid, or inferior to dogs, or cats were this or that….Too independent. Not loyal. Manipulative. Affectionate only when they wanted something. Horrible pets. Blah, blah, blah.

I didn’t know (how could I?) that I was the only one in our family of eight who did not have a cat allergy. Didn’t matter…we’d never have a cat. And based on what I’d been taught, I didn’t want one. I was a dog person, too.

The cat Richard had when we met scared me. Her pupils would dilate when I visited and she sometimes charged at my face/head/hair. Richard said she wanted to play, but I perceived her playfulness as aggression, and I wasn’t going to let her maim me. This cat didn’t fit the lazy, aloof stereotype. She scared me. She wanted to kill me.

My dogs never tried to kill me.

I was buddies with the Shepherd mix my dad had in my senior year — smartest dog I’d ever known; he kept her longer than the usual year or two. She and I played hide and seek a lot and I really believe she smiled when she found me.

Richard and I wanted to get a dog after we were married, but our apartment wouldn’t allow dogs, so we searched the animal shelters for a kitten. One 4-month-old kitten in particular worked really hard to get our attention as we passed and paid no mind to the other ten or so passers-by, so we adopted him. Shelter employees told me that cats don’t like change and that he would need time to adjust to his new home. Yeah, right. After napping a short while in our room, this spotted tabby FREAKED ME OUT when he entered the living room, postured me, sideways, with his back arched, ears back, his pupils dilated and his striped tail bristled to four times its normal size. Richard was in the kitchen.

“Richard! He’s going to kill me!” At which Richard had a great laugh and said, “No, he’s just playing.”

Mr. P.C. got the evening crazies and ran throughout the apartment for a good hour. I started chasing him around and hiding from him, then he hid from me. This became part of our nightly routine; he always did the “gotcha” grab when he found me. He slept on our pillows and hung out with us wherever we were. He did that until he died at age 11.

A fluke, you suppose? Any cat we’ve had since then has been the same way. I discovered that cats are incredible companions. If you interact with them, play with them, appreciate their uniqueness rather than simply cohabitate, they respond with deliberate affection.

While my mind changed in a big way about cats, I know better than to expect that to happen for most people. It gave me immense joy, then, when my friend, Liz, blogged about how her hubby began to show their cat some kindness rather than torment it.

We would have a dog if we could, most certainly, but we’ll never NOT have a cat.

© Alexa Lopez, 2008