Picking a worthy companion for the short or long-term isn’t a decision that one makes without a considerable amount of introspection and care. In romance, someone will ruin their tendons, muscles, and bones bending themselves into a pretzel of indecision - or justification - weighing if the person they want to offer their heart to is truly deserving. With dog - and-or cat - ownership, the deciding factor comes down to a tolerance of pet hair. Forever, and everywhere, combined with your zeal in walking your dog three times a day and picking up their poop. Shall it be romance with a human - or a partnership with a pet that won’t ignore your texts, pretend they love your casserole, and gawk at your former coworker in her killer dress? (This isn’t an autobiographical example.)
Your answer please?
It’s the pet.
Your cat who cuddles alongside you on a schedule agreeable to each party. You notarized a binding agreement. Bullet licked the page because you smeared drop of gravy from his turkey dinner below your signature. If broken, it will be legally enforced.
Your dog, who’s finally graduated from the barking-and-howling-for-the-first-two-hours-after-you-leave-for-work stage straight to eating couch cushions. You watch in horror from the video camera tied to the app on your phone. You know Sophie’s anxiety kicks up around noon. Why do you continue to view the live feed at your desk - or at all - as it appears to be self-inflicted punishment?
Our love for our pets is beating our desire to couple-up.
Why?
Humans suck.
They lie, vote for idiots, wage wars, and ruin your credit score without your knowledge. Send me the location of any pet that has done all these. If your pet tanked your Equifax, it’s not her fault.
Your new French bulldog, Scout, didn’t beg for Louis Vuitton booties and a diamond necklace. She’s a dog. You’re a credit risk to yourself. Seek professional help.
A pet accepts you for who you are because you lead the pack. Well, you should command your pack. What did your ex do? He gaslighted you, lovingly, at every turn, worked with your vindictive cousin to arrange a surprise promotion party inviting every member of your toxic family that you wholeheartedly, and validly detest - and he threw slick comments your way all because you told him that he’s responsible for his scattered life choices.
He wanted to date a cheerleader.
Someone that would kiss his ass and sing his praises. You are a fully realized human that isn’t going to dance and play nice when it comes to his lack of awareness. You told him how you felt. It was the shining truth.
He sucked his teeth and basically undermined you to that same cousin you used to work for before a better career path opened to you and you left her behind. She’s bitter. You’re a department head at a bigger company in the same field. It’s not your fault that family paid you below market-value for your education and experience for three years. Plus, he kept eating the last ice cream bar and always forgot to replenish it when he came over. You’ll laugh last though. When he arrives Friday afternoon for your standard weekends together, he’ll find his belongings in a tidy box on the porch. It’s over.
Humans.
Your cat, Troubles, just wants you to show up every few hours to dump his pungent, slimy, meatloaf out of a foil covered, plastic tin. He’ll allow you to stroke his back on the couch before you turn on that reality show that he abhors. All you do is scream at your television for the 52 minutes that it airs before retreating to the shower because you caused yourself to actually sweat in anger. There’s a reason he leaves once he hears the intro music.
After binging the rest of the season over a weekend you had the flu, Troubles actually rolled his eyes at you that early evening. You couldn’t be sure of what you saw because of the headache medicine but, yes, your cat rolled his eyes at your entertainment inclinations.
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