I'd Rather Be A Cat Uncle Than A Cat Daddy

17 months of marriage have taught me a lot of things. I've learned survival tips.  I've learned hair tips (more than just split-ends).  Maintaining a household is hard work.  Something always needs to be budgeted: time, money, energy. Many of these things I expected to learn over time. Before I took the oath, made the promise, and said goodbye to Single Craig, I had a pretty good idea that I was about to be whipped into shape.  I had no idea that I was gonna get tag-teamed by my wife, daughter and the pets. Yes, the pets. What makes it worse it that I hate pets.  Actually, I don't hate pets. I just don't like mine.

I am not an animal-hater.  Generally, I like animals.  That's not true. I don't really like animals, I just don't mind them. Although, I have to say that our animals are pretty well-behaved. My dog doesn't bark like crazy and disturb the neighbors.  The cat has had his front claws removed, so he's not tearing up stuff. I know my dog can't help being a dog, but I find myself loathing his canine instincts and behaviors (he licks everything). Or perhaps it's the combination of a dumb dog and a fat cat.

I didn't have too big of a problem with my wife's cat before we got married. After all, we didn't live together, so I was only around the cat for a few hours while at her apartment.  I wasn't a part of the vet bills, or litter box cleanings, or the incessant meowing at 3am.  I was only around during the fun part.  I never noticed the cat's hair coating half of every exposed surface in the house.  I didn't think much of the cat jumping up on counter tops, book shelves or tv stands.  I was the uncle that didn't see the problem with letting the kids eat an entire box of Nerds for lunch only to send the unlucky parents home with sugared-up brats.

Now I notice cat hair on my clothes and in my sandwich. I notice that he's tracked kitty litter to places where I don't want to think about what may have caused the litter to stick to his feet.  This is the same cat that managed to smear poop on me in my sleep once, so I have a pretty good idea why the litter has made it up the basement steps. He also nearly threw up on my face one sleepy night.  Needless to say, Max (the cat) and I haven't had a very trusting relationship.

(The cat was probably trying to steal her breath.)

My animal-related ignorance got me into deeper trouble when I opted to buy my daughter a puppy.  Yikes! What was I thinking? I brought it on myself.  I set myself up.  I gave my wife the impression that I wanted to be a pet owner. Hindsight tells me that I should've known better.  Of the 29 years of my life prior to marriage, I'd owned a pet for about three months. Less than 1% of my life had been spent caring for (and tolerating) an animal.  Though I did have a pretty cool fish tank for a few years, my experience with non-people is almost nil.

My wife on the other hand has always had pets.  To her, this is normal.  $400 for their flea medicine (our pets don't have fleas. I wonder how much it would cost me if they did), $250 to get the cat diagnosed with an allergy to grass? Comes with the territory.  Not for me.  It's just that the responsibility and expenses far outweigh the rewards of pet ownership for me. I see these expenses as few pairs of shoes I had to forgo.  Or that pair of designer jeans I couldn't have.  Plus, we still have to feed them.

And clean up after them.  I think this idiot dog gets a kick out of watching me gagging as I scoop his extractions in the back yard. I know Milo loves the fact that I've spent back-breaking hour after back-breaking hour replacing the abundance of plants from our home's previous owner with nice, green grass that he gets to dig up.  Now, instead of the Kentucky Blue I originally planted, we have crabgrass and other weed-like turf.  What a spiteful creature.  Having these pets is like having to do the dishes after a delicious dinner that I didn't get to eat.

(Did I mention that he gets beaten up by the cat?)

It doesn't help that my wife and daughter are ridiculously in love with animals. Not just our animals, but every furry, four-legged something-or-other on earth.  The prime example took place on my honeymoon. My wife  is so animal crazy that she was petting stray dogs in Mexico.  Stray dogs!  In Mexico! These were filthiest, mangiest things I'd ever seen and she was undeterred.  This, from a woman that complains about the germiness of kids at Chuck E. Cheese, was fondling filthy, foreign, orphan animals. Wow.

Now I'm stuck. Two animals that I don't like very much, stand to be members of my household for the next 14 or so years.  That's a long time to be miserable.  I've let my wife know that these are the last two pets I'll ever own.  If one of them scurries out into traffic tomorrow, I would like to dream that I'd be one step closer to pet-freedom.  I bet I'd like them more if they were your pets, not mine.