Hate is Such a Strong Word

My cat hates me. Well, she’s not my cat, she’s my son’s, but I’m the one home with her all day; the one who feeds her, who saves her from the dogs, who talk to her, who suggested getting her in the first place. And do I get any thanks? Hell no. Not only that, but she likes/tolerates (she is a cat, after all) everyone in the family…EXCEPT ME! I walk into a room where she’s been sitting quietly and she jumps down from her perch and leaves. I pick her up and she instantly stops purring and clamors to get away. I talk to her and she gives me the stink eye. So fine, if she wants to be like that, I’ll just hate her right back. Isn’t that the way it goes? And yet, I can’t. I often chalk it up to her being a cat, they’re supposed to be like that, aren’t they? And I take solace in the fact that my dogs trail after me all day and look pathetic when I leave and then ridiculously happy when I return. They love me, so it’s not that I’m unlovable. It’s obviously the cat’s problem. But that doesn’t mean I have to like her. Or be nice to her, right? I’m not talking about the cat. Well, I am, but I’m not. The cat is so reflective of the rest of my life. Over the past couple […]

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