Our cat Helios, a.k.a The American Taliban. Terror and destruction are his middle names.
By Nic Lindh on Saturday, 13 December 2014
Our relationship with cats is amazing when you think about it. We take these small predators that—unlike dogs—have had no evolutionary pressure whatsoever to consider us as anything but sources of food and warmth, invite them into our homes, provide food and shelter, and clean up their waste.
Which, let’s be real here, is disgusting.
If you have a cat you’ve had those moments when you’re bent over the litter box, plastic shovel in hand and, tears in your eyes, choking back the urge to vomit.
And this you do, because you love your little furry friend.
Your little furry friend who is a sociopathic predator that lives to murder.
One of our monsters, Helios, pictured above, has started to sleep with his helper monkeys now that the nights are getting colder, and he tends to come by as I’m reading myself to sleep, purring up a storm next to me.
Which is great—how can you not love that?
But then the other night as I was petting him I realized, “Wait. I’m feeling super great that this animal I feed and clean up excrement from is allowing me to pet him and make him feel so good he purrs.”
Sucker. Just a sucker.