I will now explain my position on cats; not the musical, but the animal.
First, it will help to know my history.
I grew up in the presence of a little orange cat named Pammy. She came from the mean streets of Northbridge, a tired wanderer searching for rest, and probably cat food. Finding our garage suitable, Pammy decided to set up shop and declare war on anything with four legs. She fought back encroaching rodents for over 14 years. Then, one night, I heard a group of cats fighting in the yard. The next day Pammy had cat scratches all over her face. It was the wild cats. They wanted her food, and perhaps her hunting grounds. Three days later, I found Pammy dead under a tree in the neighbor’s yard.
In my late teens, another stray cat came to us. This one was black. I named it Richard before I found out she was a girl. I kept the name. Then a woman picked her up and claimed that Richard had bit her. She demanded a rabies test. Unfortunately, you have to kill the cat to perform the test. Richard didn’t have rabies. But Richard was dead.
Now I’m going to throw some sentences at you!
Black cats are bad luck.
Cat tongues are like sandpaper.
When a cat rubs up against you it is marking you as territory.
A cat scratched me once.
This is Bob Barker reminding you to have your pets spayed and neutered.
There are crazy cat ladies but you’ve never heard of a crazy dog lady.
I have loved cats, but I mostly hate them.