What's wrong with cats?
I see it in the stories I read. When the heroine of a romance laments being unable to find a boyfriend/partner/etc., she says she'll just get a cat or two and become the "crazy cat lady." The "crazy cat lady" is a common cliche. Lately, I've seen similar sentiments expressed on LinkedIn, which is the inspiration for this article.
As an aficionado of all things feline, I don't get it. What's this antipathy toward cats?
No one gives me the side-eye for having more than one dog, but mention that I've got more than one cat and folks start looking at me as though something's wrong or at least perturbing.
Think of the mass. I've got a 150 lb. Great Dane and an 85 lb. German Shepherd. No one looks askance at me for having two big dogs. It takes a lot of fluffy kitties to equal that kind of weight. My seven cats don't equal the weight of that one Great Dane, yet mention that I have seven—count 'em: Sparky, Guido, Sally, Brutus, Alice, Muffin, and Cooper—and eyebrows rise, jaws drop, and noses wrinkle.
As if dogs don't stink, too. (They do. Trust me.)
The crazy cat lady is a sexist trope. Thus sayeth KQED here. I find these old tropes fascinating and enjoy looking up their histories. A lot gets blamed on religion, the Roman Catholic Church especially. No doubt, Christianity and other religions have provided ample justification for countless offenses against humanity, especially against the female portion. Equating cat ownership with forlorn, socially awkward, lonely spinsters seems almost benign compared to the innumerable other atrocities and oppressions visited upon women and cats throughout history.
I rather like that cats, in ancient times, were viewed as godlike instead of devilish, because there's a lot to like about cats. PBS did a documentary about cats. Netflix did a 4-part documentary about cats, too. They highlight our enigmatic, not-so-aloof, carnivorous companions and the special abilities that make them far superior to other species in many ways. Cats, more than dogs, have retained their sense of self despite millennia of domestication. They're less amenable to genetic manipulation than dogs. Truly, cats as a species don't need us, and perhaps we find that threatening.
However, there's nothing like statistics to turn obsolete and incorrect assumptions around, except it hasn't worked concerning cats. According to Statista, Millennials (72.24 million) comprise the largest of currently living generations. They also like cats. Forty-eight percent (48%) of Millennial men own cats, compared to 35% of Millennial women.
Higher percentages of both sexes (62% women and 71% men) own dogs. The more-than-100% total indicates, to me, that there are a lot of people who have and like both cats and dogs.
My husband used to say he hated cats. (My mother-in-law does say she detests cats.) However, he has long since accepted that we are a cat-owning household. (We celebrate 35th wedding anniversary this month.) He cuddles with them, and the cats are more apt to snuggle with him than are the dogs. (I get lovely snuggles from both species.)
So, where does this antipathy toward cats come from? A quick Google search brings up numerous articles on that very subject. It's incredible. Reasons range from blame assigned to Pope Gregory IX to association of the feline with the feminine to a simple dislike of a cat's complexity (because they're not as easily understood) to an unreasonable (and failed) expectation that cats should act like dogs.
Where am I going with this? Nowhere.
I can't debate or argue or persuade someone who detests cats into liking them. The power of my words isn't sufficient to do that. However, I might, perhaps, get someone to rethink his or her antipathy toward cats by prompting a personal exploration into the why of it. That's where the power of words comes in: not necessarily to change someone's mind, but to stimulate reflection and introspection, to coax someone into asking why and answering that question with candid self-honesty and arriving at truth.
Truth comes not always in fact, but through fiction, too. As G. K. Chesterton said, “Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.”
Words should help us ponder assumptions and reveal truth.