Here’s a black cat for some extra bad luck. My poem this week is about buying a cat, but in actuality this is the only cat I own. I keep him as a reminder of why I shouldn’t buy a cat – but that should be obvious once you read this cat hating poem. Enjoy – MieowwwwwHssssss!

Walter

I bought a cat today.
I hate him.
So self-satisfied.
And self-reliant.
I wanted needy.
He seemed needy. Came right up to me rubbing his head under my hand.
I hesitated. Is this gonna drive me crazy? Maybe.
I took him anyway.
Now it seems as if his overtures were all a show.
He doesn’t like me.
He just wanted to get out of captivity and away from the other cats. Probably hated them too.
He’s clearly a misanthrope. And a sadist.

He wasn’t the best looking cat. Quite possibly the least attractive.
Maybe that was part of his appeal. I thought he’d need some love.
But he completely ignores me. He hates me.
With intensity. It’s quite obvious.

And now I have to clean up his shit. Like an aide in a nursing home.
Except it’s seven days a week and I don’t get paid.
Did I mention that I don’t like cats?
I thought I’d learn to love my cat.
It’s apparent now – that’s not gonna happen.
And I have to feed him, clean his litter pan, worry about fleas and hairballs.
Hairballs. Regurgitated balls of hair.
Eventually he’ll die.
Probably after some horrible illness and a terrifying death bed scene.
And I’ll have to dispose of him.

I hate my cat.
And I’m a little scared of him.
I suspect he’s one of those cats that seduces you into petting him and then strikes. Viciously.
Cats have razor sharp claws. Like a particularly treacherous cactus – that might attack at any moment.
Cats are very, very cruel.
I’ve been tricked before.
I think I’ll stay as far away from my cat as possible.

I bought a cat because I was looking for companionship – I guess.
But you can’t buy friends.
Actually you can. You can buy a dog.
I wanted a dog.
But having a dog makes it difficult to get away.
I have nowhere to go and no means to go anywhere anyway.
I should have gotten a dog.

But I got a cat.
I guess it was selfish of me. I bought a living thing to serve some need of my own.
Sort of like slavery.
I’m a terrible person.
I deserve this punishment.

My cat is:
Smarter, hipper, better looking, more athletic, healthier, cleaner, more well adjusted and far more self confident than me.
He makes me hate myself.
I hate myself.
I’m not even good enough for my cat.
But he’s stuck with me.
Poor cat.
He must despise me.
I would if I were him.

(In the writing of this poem, some names were changed. No animals were harmed.
It’s fiction. All of it. Except the line – I hate cats.)