Now, it’s true that I do have a cat. And my cat is pretty cute. However, truth be told, I have a cat only because I cannot handle the responsibility of a dog right now — I work too much, I travel too much, I go out too much. I’ve been wanting a dog every since I left my family pup in Seattle, but it’s just not realistic until I’m more of a grown-up. So despite a life-long hatred of cats, I recently adopted a kitten who luckily has the personality of a dog (he waits outside my door for me in the morning, he follows me around the house, he likes to play, etc etc).
But he is not a dog.
I never had cats growing up — Percival is my first. We had dogs, and my best childhood memories always include them. We had the same golden retriever — Goose — for most of my life. He died when I was 16, and you still can’t bring up his name in my house without someone crying. He was the Best Dog Ever. Should I ever not live in a tiny apartment, I will get a big nice dog just like Goose.
About a year after Goose died, we got Ferris, a Westie. He’s the opposite of Goose, and out of his damned mind — wild, stubborn, untrainable, and mischievous. He’s mellowed out a lot in recent years (he’s 7 now) and he’s always been very sweet, but he has made it clear that he’d rather live with the neighbors and their dog than with us. He’s also a beast — huge for his breed, perpetually dirty, and kind of muppet-looking. In case it isn’t astoundingly clear, I adore him.
So this is Ferris, the #1 puppy love of my life:
Yes, sometimes we shave him:
He has a BFF:
And this photo is a couple of years old, but it’s still my favorite of the two of us:
So yes, it’s true: Not all feminists are cat-lovers. Even some of us who have cats aren’t cat-lovers. And there are some of us who will say, loud and clear: The feminist dog revolution is now.