I Touch Their Poo: Cats on Fire
This is something I don’t remember seeing until I moved to Philadelphia and was going in and out of strangers’ homes on a regular basis.
You’d think that someone concerned enough about their cat’s safety to hang this in their window would want it to be visible at all times. Especially since the time when it will matter most, there will be a monstrous, out of control bonfire happening just behind it.
But no, the little 3 inch x 4 inch badge is usually just floating around in the bottom left or right corner of a window. Which will come in handy when firemen bash the window into shards and trample the cat on their way in. If they’re going to take the time to monitor window hangings before getting into your house, then maybe it should catch the eye a bit easier.
Then again, are there cats that warrant saving? Some do not. Quiet down, cat people. I know you all like to pretend they’re your babies and for a lot of you, they probably are. And that’s fine. As long as you manage to euthanize all of your “children” before you eventually die of loneliness, you’re okay in my book. Don’t need a house full of cats out there just waiting to strengthen the outdoor feral populace.
Obviously, when I say this, it stems from my interaction with a cat in particular. I don’t see a lot of them. In fact, he’s my only cat client, since Jitterbug the 25 pound monster moved to St. Louis.
And that’s Dmitri.
First, he’s clearly named after the main character in a maritime sex novel. I would honestly rather enter Dmitiri’s home and see Shelob scuttling down the steps toward me than this warped, warbling hissy-fit. He’s not fat, he’s just… thick in this really dumb way that makes you look at him twice. But by then, he’s already hissing, swinging, and probably biting at you, despite literally being that hand that feeds him.
That cat is the reason why a fire department should be intervieiwing pets to determine if they are worth saving. Two kittens who just want to lie in a pile in the sun? Rescue. Geriatric dog who just wants to get scratched? Rescue, pity. Dmitiri, refusing to believe his paws no longer have claws in them, swipes away at a fireman’s ankles, and as he’s carried out, digs his fangs into his rescuer’s hand?
Yeah, that kitty’s getting knuckle balled back into the inferno. See you in cat-hell.
They’re asking people to risk their lives for these animals, and I’m not against that, I just think the animals should at least not be dicks.
The one time I’ve really interacted with the fire department was when I was walking two Australian shepherds and got cut off by a fire truck coming to a screaming halt at the intersection. The driver leaned out the window officiously.
“You seen anything around here?”
“You sure? Child struck by a vehicle? Hit and run?”
I looked around before I answered, as if in these last two seconds, maybe I’d finally realize I was standing in a crime scene. But no. There was nothing.
“No, I haven’t seen anything.”
He snorted at me and slowly drove off. My neighborhood’s fairly quiet. And my memory’s not that bad. That’s the kind of thing even a reasonably dulled radar would probably pick up.
So clearly, the fire department is already dealing with a sloth of prank-horrific accident reports. Requesting that they go into a blaze to save your cat sounds like an unbalanced ratio as far as risk/reward goes. And obviously, if you were there to be rescued yourself, you could explain that Ferris was a good kitty, he just fought a raccoon a few years ago and hasn’t ever really recovered from the… “eye thing.”
I’m not rallying anybody to join my cat genocide. I’m just someone who knows for a fact that there are cats out there who maybe don’t deserve to be swaddled in a blanket and carried out of a flaming townhouse by an American hero. Maybe people with awful cats should just check twice to make sure the stove is off.