Commentary by Danielle Wilson
Our cat just celebrated her seventh birthday. Hooray! We’ve managed to keep her alive all these years despite moving houses, acquiring a dog and occasionally forgetting about her entirely over long weekends. The most amazing thing is, I might love Ginger more than my kids (interpret that sentence however you’d like; both ways are true). And that’s saying something because I am not a pet person and, according to my husband, Doo, I am cold and dead inside. Perhaps that’s why I love the cat. She totally appeals to my practical, stoic nature.
- Felines have the lowest maintenance plans of any domesticated animal, especially the short-hair domestic options. I’ve never taken Ginger for a walk in the single digit temps, swept up enough of her hair to form another cat, or cleaned her diarrhea out of the shag carpet. I cannot say the same for our lab.
- Cleaning the litter box makes for the perfect punishment for the short people who live with us. Even with the multi-cat clumping and ammonia-absorbing super formula, scooping poop is stinky and degrading. Love it!
- I dig her attitude. When I walk in from work, there’s no needy bull like I get from the dog (or my kids). If Ginger decides to grant me with her presence, it’s more like, “Hey, woman. You’re alive. I’m going back to my room. Call me when dinner’s ready.” So cool.
- Okay, I may not be entirely dead inside, because I do believe there is something magical about having a soft fuzzy creature purring with contentment on your lap on a cold winter’s night. Who needs the snuggie when you have a cat? Actually, Ginger’s favorite spot is atop our snuggie, making for a double dose of adorable warmth!
- You never know what you’ll find in the fridge. Seriously, Doo thought he heard meowing in the kitchen, opened the door to the refrigerator, and there she was. Oops! No worries, Ginger hadn’t been cooling for more than a minute or so. Five tops.
Long live Ginger, and cats everywhere! Peace out.