I have always had two cats. The theory was that they would amuse one another when I was out of town, but of course this doesn’t always work out as planned. So for 16 years, I lived with two individually delightful cats who disliked each other. Every day when I came home, there was fur on the rug after another of their non-epic battles.
When these cats died, I told myself I would never again give house room to combatants. So when I saw a cubicle at the Humane Society labeled ‘They must be adopted together,’ I didn’t even bother looking at any of the other cats.
Now I have two housemates who LOOOVVE each other. They cuddle, snuggle, wash each other’s faces, chase each other all over the apartment, and spread an atmosphere of almost cloying kittylove. And I am happy. But …
I feel left out. I didn’t realize how much I liked being the only person in the house whom everybody loved. Now I hang around the edges of the social circle, treasuring the few moments when they deign to treat me as one of them. I’ve gone from being the only person in the house smart enough to get along with everybody, to being below my cats on the social totem pole.
Is it better to rule in hell, or to have two people chase each other across your belly without noticing you in heaven?
