Compare and Contrast

My cat Clara is the most amazing pet. I used to secretly mock such animal enthusiasts but she has quickly transformed me. It was love at first sight when I found her at the Taney County humane society. Fluffy soft fur of black, orange, and white covered her petite frame, while her green eyes added the perfect amount of drama. Pink and black speckled gums held her few remaining teeth, causing her to affectionately become known as “snaggle tooth”. She was absolutely exquisite. I was in Missouri helping care for my dad and she was exactly what I needed. She possessed an incredibly outgoing personality I have yet to witness from another cat. My dad called us sisters. She would pop up on his knee each time he summoned, causing him to chuckle. During that time she was our distraction, comic relief, and cuddly pal. Now in Miami she is every bit as social. Each party I host she is sprawled out amidst the chaos. I pretend I’m Holly and she’s ‘cat’ in our far less glamorous adaptation of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She also has the most delicate meow. It’s not a mournful cry, or an irritating drawn out yowl like many felines, but a breathless little squeak you can’t help but try to imitate. As if Marilyn Monroe were to meow. She provides constant entertainment by skidding across the wood floors batting at her favorite toys, wine corks and avocado seeds. Oddly enough I always have an abundance of both. She keeps me company while I sit on the kitchen rug searching for recipes, soliciting my attention by scratching her cheeks on the hard corners of the books. When I crawl into bed she curls up against my stomach and is still there when I wake up the next morning. While traveling I miss her greatly and when I arrive home I can tell she has also missed me. We will always be connected from that dark time in Missouri. That is why my calico Clara is the best pet ever.

Photo by Allana Wesley White

My cat Clara is the worst pet ever. Her fur plagues my apartment as a constant reminder. I am forced to sweep the floors and dust the bookshelf daily while she grooms and lounges in the sun. The minute I finish cleaning, the air conditioning inevitably clicks on and additional fur whisks out of nowhere recoating every surface. How can one six-pound creature leave such debris? I purchased a kitty washroom for one hundred dollars to make her litter box as inconspicuous as possible. What does she do? Kicks litter out into the hallway every chance she gets! Why ever put the broom away? My hands and arms are riddled with scratches from deceptive belly rubs. My knees bruised from falls deliberately caused by relentless weaving below my feet. Most mornings are ruined by her obnoxiously loud purring. If she’s not sticking her damp nose in my eye, she’s kneading dough on my throat. I used to think it was sweet but now I know it’s just an elaborately choreographed routine begging for food, the canned kind, not the dry. My exasperating feline has also experienced a long string of medical problems. I haven’t seen a doctor in almost five years, yet Clara goes at least every six months. She was struggling with bulimia, constant ear infections, and now most recently her teeth. The veterinarian seemed shocked when I said I didn’t know cats had teeth problems. “Don’t you brush your teeth and visit the dentist? Cats need the same care.” Jesus Christ when I go to the dentist its sixty bucks! Cleaning her teeth takes anesthesia and the bargain rate of five hundred dollars. Tack on an extra one hundred and forty for the two additional teeth that needed pulling. I’m now required to brush them daily, splendid. She begs incessantly, scratches up the couch, and sheds year round! I don’t know how this beast is still living with me. By far, my insufferable kitty Clara is the worst pet ever.