Mad Cat Man

Tom Cox admits to being a mad cat man.

The phenomenon of Mad Cat Man is even less widely reported. One of the reasons for this is that us males are still suspicious of cat ownership. Being a heterosexual man and admitting to another heterosexual man that you like cats can feel a little like telling him that you still sleep alongside your childhood collection of teddy bears.

I’ve never really had a problem admitting this. Perhaps because I find all too often that I am far from alone. I’ve always had an affinity with animals. I recall at an early age, parents and relatives commenting on the way that dogs and cats would home in on me. I like dogs, but I like cats more. It’s something to do with their independence – or at Tom puts it:

…but there’s also a love of their comic timing, punk rock attitude (which is far more interesting to witness than any actual punk rock), and the way that, unlike dogs, they tell you no sentimental lies and, instead, prepare you for the harsh realities of the world.

Indeed. if a cat takes to you, then it is because it chooses to, not because of some primeval submissive urge, nor some pack instinct. Although usually that rub around the ankles has more to do with mercenary desires than altruism. More a case of “feed me” than “I love you”.

Mrs Longrider was mildly surprised to discover early on in our relationship that I was not tolerating her two cats for her benefit, I genuinely enjoyed their company (and miss them still, some fifteen years after they shuffled off this mortal coil). That we have ten of the blighters is to do with a shared obsession – and an inability to say no when faced with the prospect of a new kitten. Indeed, the one time I did say no, I had cause to regret it when the fluff-ball concerned was run over and killed less than a year later. Likely as not, this tragic event will mean even more cats in years to come.

Tom’s article is light hearted and refreshing; men do like cats and it’s nothing to be ashamed of (not that I ever have been). Cat people tend to be like the animal of their obsession; fiercely independent, resistant to the herd instinct, aloof, cunning and proud. Individualists to the bitter end.

Despite the article’s light hearted nature there is always the silly sod who takes it too seriously and whines about gardens. It was entirely predictable, so this typically petty complaint from Paul Randall of Chichester comes as no surprise:

When you have cats; your neighbours have cats.

And if your neighbours happen to have a well-cultivated garden, they probably have even more to do with sorting out the cat’s excrement than does the owner.

Cat man, cat woman. Both selfish.

The Longrider garden is well tended, mature and a delight to sit in on the few sunny days we get in the UK. It is not covered with cat shit – this, despite it being situated in a neighbourhood brimming over with cats. Our ten are but a drop in a huge furry feline ocean. Indeed, in a neighbourly manner, we created a sand pit at the bottom of the garden under the lilac tree for the cats to use. This has become something of a public convenience for all those passing cats working their territory and visiting our tribe. Yet still, the garden is not overrun with cat shit. This is because cats bury it, unlike dogs who shit and run. Those who complain about the garden being ruined by cats are exaggerating in order to justify their own cat hatred. If people did not keep cats, they would be feral, so the “problem” would still exist, just as it exists with badgers, hedgehogs, foxes and a wealth of small rodents, amphibians and reptiles that use the garden as a home.

Frankly, give me cats over neighbours like Paul Randall any day.

Here then, is some cat pron: