Let’s talk about the difference between cats and dogs and, by extension, their respective owners.
I began thinking about it a while back when a friend asked if I’d had pets when I was a kid. My gut response was no, not because we never had a dog or a cat but because they were never referred to as pets.
I grew up on a farm with cats and dogs all over the place. Not one of them, however, was acquired, as in sought and selected, which is the prerequisite for the nomenclature “pet.” We had animals: cats and dogs just appeared and stayed until their eventual demise by tractor, truck, or a cow stepping on them. We attach ourselves to our pets, not animals in the wild, which is pretty much what life was like out there. I learned early on to not get attached to or even name the cats or dogs any more than I named cows. When there was more than one dog, it was described by dominant breed; cats were specified by color. Still, they were well fed by kitchen scraps and from 50-pound bags of Purina Whatever-Chow my dad got at the elevator.
Even surrounded by animals, I knew from the get-go that I’m a cat person the same way I’m left-handed. Cats made sense to me in a way that dogs never did. All that barking and jumping and sniffing made me nervous, whereas a cat just “was,” a quiet life force that roamed around and snuggled once in a while, but demanded nothing more than food, water, and shelter.
On to the difference between cats and dogs: While they’re both loved and loving in the right home, what seems to separate them is their sense of loyalty.
Dogs are loyal to their owners and cats are loyal to their homes. There’s a reason there are no cat parks or cat pub nights or cats at the beach and you don’t see cats in hotels. Chuck and Don’s is rife with canine friends while the only cats are those lodged in crates awaiting adoption. Dogs are like children, happy wherever Mom and/or Dad are. Cats just want to stay put.
When my daughter, Daisy, was eight, I took her to Italy to visit my dear friend, Jenny, and her daughter, Chiara, in Assisi. Later just Daisy and I went to Rome for a few days. One day after lunch we were walking along a cobblestone path, holding hands. She was happy, completely relaxed, and I marveled that here we were 5,000 miles from home, and Daisy was carefree. I imagine that’s what it’s like with a dog. Apropos of almost nothing, Daisy is a popular dog’s name. Once a year I make a pilgrimage to Kenwood Pet Clinic for our Miss Cat’s checkup. While it is a fine facility, I chose it for its proximity and to alleviate the torturous drive for both of us. ERRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHRRRGGHH is the sound a cat makes enroute to anywhere. The whole process still seems a bit fatuous. On the farm, the vet came to you because cows, bulls, pigs, and horses were his or her purview. I doubt Dr. Garlie spent much time on anything smaller than a barrow or gilt.
Each morning I sit here working and see the dog walkers go by and I think of the farm when walking a dog would have been seen as outré as jogging. To expend energy dogs ran and people worked. Especially when it’s cold and the Jaws of Life couldn’t get me out of the house, the thought of walking a dog is too much to bear.
Which leads me to the difference between the owners. My neighbor and friend, Mary King (a diehard dog person), said it best: Dog people are more outdoorsy while cat people are homebodies. Maybe she’s right.
– Dorothy
