chendongshan chendongshan - stock.adobe.com
This article is part of Fort Worth Magazine's July Pets Issue. We had a lot of fun debating whether dogs or cats are the better companion.
DOGS
This is a slam-dunk. No offense to cats — whose inability to express anything other than disdain makes them perpetually offended anyway — the tail-wagging, eyebrow-shifting, go-outside-to-do-their-business, slobbery mess of a hound is tops when it comes to four-legged chums we’ve invited into our homes.
The OG of domesticated furballs, dogs have been by mankind’s side for what scientists estimate to be over 23,000 years. Cats have been domesticated for a paltry 8,500 years, the same amount of time as sheep. And through the millenniums, our relationship with our canine brethren has grown, blossomed, and strengthened. Like a marriage with one’s true soul mate, we’re in a good place. There’s a mutual wink of an eye and a nod of the head between dog and man that says, “I got you. No matter what, we’re good.” There’s a reason these descendants of wolves are called man’s best friend — because, well, they are. Dogs are emotionally supportive, unconditionally loving, expressive, and they save freakin’ lives (far too many documented cases, Lassie excluded, to list).
Dogs are also smarter. I mean it. It’s science. Dogs have, count ’em, twice as many neurons in their cerebral cortex as their feline foes. For those who don’t know, neurons in the cortex are directly related to IQ scores. So, yeah, dogs have a higher IQ than cats.
I’m sure my feline-adoring buddy delivering a counterpoint will allude to a cat’s independence as being at least half their charm.
An alligator is independent.
I’m not inviting an alligator into my home.
Furthermore, he might knock dogs for being “easily trainable and subordinate.” Hey, if I own a pet, I think it’s best they know where they exist on the pecking order (not in terms of love and affection deserved, mind you. ’Cause when it comes to that, canines are tops). To understand one’s place in the household is simply self-awareness, and I would never complain about a furry roommate seeking my approval, which he will no doubt get ’cause he’s a good boy. Besides, such an affinity for helping humans is in their nature.
You see, dogs were workhorses before we ever had horses that worked. They’re hunting helpers, sheep herders, sled pullers, home guarders, drug detectors, criminal attackers, escaped-prisoner finders, bomb sniffers, war-time messengers, visually impaired guiders, nose-kiss givers, and stress relievers (and I’m sure I’ve missed a few). A dog’s employment opportunities are as expansive as a liberal arts major. A cat’s surly nature, on the other hand, might suffer on the marketplace. In the words of George Carlin, “What does a cat do on its day off? Can’t just lie around — that’s what it does every day.”
My final point concerns a dog’s diversity. I mean, yeah, eons of strange breeding from their supposed best friends are to blame, but if you want a dog — big, small, long hair, short hair, barrel-snouted, snub-nosed, pointy eared, floppy eared, etc., etc. — there’s a slew of breeds (and adorable mutts) from which to choose. A cat is a cat. And that is that. A dog, meanwhile, is any amalgamation of loosely tied (and relatively goofy) parts the Creator of your choice elected to disperse in relative haste. And we’re oh so thankful.
Now, like John Wayne in “Hondo,” I’ll claim victory and leave quietly with my best friend by my side. We love you, dogs, the eternal good guys.
Natalia - stock.adobe.com
CATS
I’m 51 years old, and I’ve never, ever had a dog, even when I was a kid. It’s a school I’m not smart enough to get into, a language I don’t speak, a woman who looks the other way when I smile.
Unlike my dog-loving counterpart, I’m not into hanging out on the dog food aisle at Petco on a Saturday afternoon, brandishing my beautiful dog for all to see and admire, while other proud owners of beautiful dogs do the same. You talk about your dog’s breed, how much your dog cost, the expensive food you’ve got to keep feeding your dainty or deadly dog to keep them beautiful.
No, I’m the dude on the cat food aisle, trying to avoid you because you smell like you need a shower, like all dog owners.
Now, for dudes who are maybe a little insecure, I get how and why dogs are necessities. They’re a lot more masculine than cats, a selling point for men, my counterpart perhaps included. As men, we love meat and Budweiser and acting tough and listening to death metal or death rap and getting into fights, and by our side is our beloved dog, loyal to the end, no matter how many times we get arrested.
I see you tough dudes, walking your murderous mutts, your German shepherds and Dobermans and crazy poodles, just daring someone to mess with you so your furry friend can have an arm for lunch.
A lot of people like dogs because they’re loyal, I bet my dog-loving buddy will argue, while cats act impartial. Dog: “I love you.” Cat: “Oh, you’re the one who feeds me and cleans my litter box and my puke? Well, good for you.” You don’t get a cat because you want loyalty and snuggles and friendly licks. You get a cat because you’re lonely but lazy.
Cats don’t require 24/7, nonstop, always-open/always-here-for-you attention. A pet here, a chin scratch there, some food, some water, a clean litter box — that’s about it. You could be dead for several days before your cat would even notice.
Cats are fiercely independent, too. Pet them when they don’t want to be petted — you will get bit. Pick them up when they don’t want to be picked up — you will get scratched. Aggravate them when they’re in a bad mood — make out your will.
I don’t mind temperamental. I know temperamental because I’m temperamental. My wife knows this and treats me more like our cat than our actual cat. A temperamental cat wants some alone time. A temperamental dog wants to eat your ears.
I will admit to this: I’m not a cat lifer. I’m like a Death Cab for Cutie fan who didn’t get into them until Transatlanticism came out. I’ve only liked cats for about 10 years, and I got into them not because I thought they were cute or adorable, but because of a more practical reason: They kill rodents.
Shortly after my wife and I got married, we moved into an old house in Ridglea Hills infested with mice. We tried poisons and exterminators, but my father-in-law’s solution was the only one that worked: a cat.
My wife and stepson picked him out at a local shelter, this barracuda of fur and fat. So big was he, my stepson named him Big Boy. Within a week, the mice had moved on.
Somewhere along the way, I started to care about Big Boy as much as he seemed to care about me. This cat followed me around, slept next to me, and came when I called.
He was a constant through-thick-and-thin presence — there when we lost jobs or family members, there when we celebrated our few triumphs. He and my stepson, Joshua, grew up together, and Big Boy has been there for each of Joshua’s milestones: his first car, his first date, his first heartbreak. Most recently, Big Boy was in the kitchen, listening in, when Joshua received his acceptance letter from UNT.
Hmmm, maybe I’m beginning to understand why dog people like dogs. Big Boy is the closest thing to a dog I’ll ever have.
He’s now, we believe, around 15. He’s a little slower and a little thinner. He suffers from a thyroid condition, arthritis, and a diminishing appetite, all of which is being treated medically by the fine staff at The Cat’s Meow in Fort Worth. He’s still lively and animated, though, but he spends most of his time resting. We know time is ticking.
If you feel this way about a dog, who am I to judge you or question your taste in pets? When you say you love them, I hear you, I feel you, I get you. Just take a damn shower, OK?
(Editor’s Note: We ask that you please not take offense to any of the above words, as none was intended. Both writers are lovers of all creatures great and small, cat and dog, and this was merely a fun exercise that we hope you enjoyed.)
