Written by: Nicholas Sarysz

While dogs may be man’s best friend, what if that man is an introvert? This is where the vainglorious cat comes into play. Many would associate a cat with the ideas of playing, cuddling, purring and cuteness. As a devoted cat owner myself, I can assure anyone that those ideas are mostly bulls–t.

For example, my 3-year-old orange tabby —Moe, whom I often refer to as Boba— could be described using far different attributes. While Moe is cute, his desire for play only comes at the most inconvenient times possible, while also including wanton destruction and incredible unpredictability. Similarly, his need for human contact is inversely proportional to the availability of any humans around him. He is also odd in the fact that his purrs usually come when he is visibly confused or distressed.

This begs the question, what is the functionality of having Moe as my beloved companion? Moe takes up a disproportionate amount of my monthly food budget, needs his litter box scooped every day and refuses to allow me to eat or sleep peacefully. To almost any sane person, he would be a detrimental existence. But f–k ’em if they can’t take a joke, because I would take a bullet for this cat.

Arguably, Moe will always have more negatives than the contrary, but he isn’t all bad news. For starters, he seems to have picked me over my significant other as his “person”. 

The perks for this include Moe following me into the bathroom, looking upon me begrudgingly as I clean up after him and stealing my food.

Another lovely aspect of the entity that is Moe is that he does an exceptional job informing me when there is any moving object outside of my apartment. Moe’s favorite way of communicating potential harm is by assaulting the living room windows.

In all seriousness, he is a good Boba. He has never eaten anything he shouldn’t have, with the notable exception of one chicken nugget. Moe also doesn’t require the constant babysitting that many animals are known for. In all reality, he just exists in the same space that I do, because I forced him to. He —like many cats— had no say in who his roommate is, or even what that “room” is. His life could be considered an existential bummer, yet it is up to me to make sure the most can be made of it. So this begs the question —what is the functionality of a cat owner?

Contact the author at howlstaffwriter@wou.edu

While dogs may be man’s best friend, what if that man is an introvert? This is where the vainglorious cat comes into play. Many would associate a cat with the ideas of playing, cuddling, purring and cuteness. As a devoted cat owner myself, I can assure anyone that those ideas are mostly bulls–t.

For example, my 3-year-old orange tabby —Moe, whom I often refer to as Boba— could be described using far different attributes. While Moe is cute, his desire for play only comes at the most inconvenient times possible, while also including wanton destruction and incredible unpredictability. Similarly, his need for human contact is inversely proportional to the availability of any humans around him. He is also odd in the fact that his purrs usually come when he is visibly confused or distressed.

This begs the question, what is the functionality of having Moe as my beloved companion? Moe takes up a disproportionate amount of my monthly food budget, needs his litter box scooped every day and refuses to allow me to eat or sleep peacefully. To almost any sane person, he would be a detrimental existence. But f–k ’em if they can’t take a joke, because I would take a bullet for this cat.

Arguably, Moe will always have more negatives than the contrary, but he isn’t all bad news. For starters, he seems to have picked me over my significant other as his “person”. 

The perks for this include Moe following me into the bathroom, looking upon me begrudgingly as I clean up after him and stealing my food.

Another lovely aspect of the entity that is Moe is that he does an exceptional job informing me when there is any moving object outside of my apartment. Moe’s favorite way of communicating potential harm is by assaulting the living room windows.

In all seriousness, he is a good Boba. He has never eaten anything he shouldn’t have, with the notable exception of one chicken nugget. Moe also doesn’t require the constant babysitting that many animals are known for. In all reality, he just exists in the same space that I do, because I forced him to. He —like many cats— had no say in who his roommate is, or even what that “room” is. His life could be considered an existential bummer, yet it is up to me to make sure the most can be made of it. So this begs the question —what is the functionality of a cat owner?

Contact the author at howlstaffwriter@wou.edu