by Abby Moss
OK, first off, I'd like to back-track on my shameless headline. This is actually a pretty grim story. Somebody in Sweden has been grabbing cats, cutting them open and leaving them outside their owner's houses. The police can't figure out who. This probably isn't an activity that should be encouraged. The mysterious cat killer is probably upsetting several old ladies. Old ladies, for some reason, like cats. I like old ladies. I do not, however, like cats. And I resent the assumption that this somehow makes me a heartless individual. Using my human powers of relentless logic and reasoning, I will explain why.
But first, I'd like to point out that I also resent the phrasing within the over-the-top coverage of Sweden's 'serial cat killer'. Apparently cats have been 'murdered' and 'tortured'. They haven't though, have they? People can be murdered. Cats lack the complex social, moral and cultural structures necessary for this concept. Cats have been killed. Not murdered. Nevertheless, I suppose killing is still bad.
Right, so, what's my massive problem with cats, I hear you judgementally ask. You've already decided there's something wrong with me, I can tell. Well, if they were people, nobody would like them. That, in a nutshell, is my problem. If cats were people they'd be Kim Kardashian, Tom Cruise or Noel Gallagher. They swan about with their tails in the air, jump on the sofa demanding attention, and make horrible noise. Until they decide they're bored of you, at which time they will unceremoniously tell you to fuck off. And maybe piss on something. Or on you.
But they're so independent and self-assured, you're probably saying. This is wrong. And exactly what they want you to think. And you've fallen for it. Just look at how they react to very ordinary everyday events, like hoovering or spotting another cat on the television. They freak out. This is not the behaviour of an independent, confident creature; this is the behaviour of a lobotomy patient.
I'm not saying cats deserve to die. I'm just saying, worse things could happen. You could be walking down the street, spot your girlfriend/boyfriend kissing your brother/sister at a bus stop, distractedly step into the path of a speeding dustbin lorry. Swerving to avoid you, the contents of the bin lorry could pour out, burying you in a stinking pile of juicy rubbish. Your brother/sister and (now ex-) girlfriend/boyfriend could spot this and remove their tongues from each other's mouths just long enough to point and laugh. Then a bird could shit on you. And anyway, for all the aforementioned reasons (rudeness, idiocy, snobbishness, their manipulative natures) cats aren't so great anyway. Killing a few cats, though not very nice, is not synonymous with the embodiment of all evil, as everyone seems to think.
Also their tongues are like sandpaper.Suggest a correction