why i’m a cat person
This is Annie, the monster dog I’ve been taking care of since Thursday. She’s cute, isn’t she?
Annie belongs to a grad school classmate who promised she’d be low maintenance animal.
Which is true, if you consider round-the-clock fetch, constant snuggling, endless begging and continual, “pay attention to me right now,” attitude low maintenance.
To be honest, I am really starting to resent this little 12-pound ball of energy. I know it sounds stupid to resent a dog, but to be affronted with all that whiny, pouty need, 24-hours-a-day, is taxing on the nerves, especially the nerves of a cranky introvert. I find myself often looking down at her and saying, “What? Can’t you go entertain yourself for a couple of hours?!”
Which is not to say that watching her has been all bad. She is insanely cute, as I mentioned, and her propensity toward quiet snuggling has its upsides, like at night, when it feels like I’m sharing the bed with loaf of baking bread. The way her little ears flop around when she sticks her head out the car window, that’s pretty charming, too, but I’d say, for the most part, these past few days have taught me that I am definitely a cat person. And that I can’t wait to wash my sheets.