“I Don’t Like Cats.”
I Don’t Like Cats
Admiral Biscuit
She didn’t like cats.
They were cute enough, but they were selfish and demanding.
Some ponies said that you couldn’t own a cat, that the cat owned you, and she believed it.
Cats would act all innocent and friendly and they’d roll over on their backs like a dog wanting its belly nuzzled, but when she’d tried that with a cat it had clawed at her muzzle and then ran away.
Good thing it had, too, because if it had been dumb enough to stay put after swiping at her, she’d have kicked it.
They were always demanding and meowing and wrapping themselves around forehooves trying to get attention and once they got their attention, they pretended that they’d never wanted it at all.
She didn’t have a cat.
Nevertheless, there was a cat. One morning it was there, right on the edge of her front stoop, as if it had just come out of the flowerbed. Maybe it had—cats didn’t eat flowers, at least.
She looked down at it and it looked at her hopefully.
“Go away,” she told it. “I don’t like cats.”
It remained for a moment longer, and then disappeared back into the flowers. She could see an occasional blossom wavering as it made its passage, and then it went around the corner and was gone.
•••
She didn’t have a dog. Dogs were all right, except that the small ones were yappy and the big ones were barky and they had to be walked all the time. If you left them alone for too long, they’d tear up your couch, and they always smelled kind of doggy.
If she’d lived out in the country, she’d’ve had a dog.
•••
When she got back home from work, it was there again. Just sitting in front of her door like it owned the place. A scrawny cat, maybe still just a kitten.
It watched her as she came up the street, and when she put her hoof on the step, it turned tail and vanished back into the flowers.
“Good riddance,” she said.
As she prepared dinner, she half-expected to hear it meowing outside, begging for dinner, but it did not.
•••
She could have had a bird, but it wasn’t right keeping it cooped up in a tiny little cage in her apartment far away from the sky—and if she showed it the sky, it would fly away. It couldn’t help it; that was in its nature.
She liked watching the birds in the park. Wild birds came in every color of the rainbow and sang the most beautiful songs all day long. Even the pigeons, strutting around like generals, picking at breadcrumbs that ponies threw down for them.
Even the pigeons were colorful in their own way. Some of them had glossy, iridescent heads like the mallards in the pond.
The cat was striped grey and white, with black socks on all four paws—an unusual coloration. She was sure that he was just a kitten and sure that he was hungry, even if he never begged for food.
•••
He’ll never leave if I feed him, she thought, looking through her cupboard for the worst bowl she owned.
He’ll starve if I don’t. She had a pint of milk in the icebox and he was such a little guy, he wouldn’t drink much of it.
He hasn’t starved yet. It would be smarter to put the bowl on the porch and then fill it, that way she didn’t risk dribbling milk throughout her kitchen and living room.
She watched through the window and he didn’t come. The bowl just sat out there, untouched. He’s shy.
He might have moved on. Maybe he already starved to death. She sat on the couch and read through some of a romance novel and peeked through the window every now and then to see if he was there. There was no cat, and as she got ready for bed, she realized that she couldn’t remember what she’d just read at all.
•••
She could have kept fish. Fish were easy. They lived in their bowls and swam around and they didn’t bark or smell funny or try to fly away to freedom or claw at her if she tried to pet them. Many fish were even more brightly colored than birds and they were fun to watch.
You couldn’t pet a fish, though. And they probably didn’t love you, they were dumb. The fish in the park would try and eat anything that got tossed into the water, even if it was just a stick or a pebble or a leaf.
The milk was gone in the morning and she put the last of her milk in the saucer so he could have breakfast, then washed the bottle and put it back in her milk door for the milkmare to take.
•••
There were shops that sold fish for keeping, and there were other shops that sold fish for eating. She’d never visited the latter and it was a slightly terrifying experience. She was the only unicorn in the shop and felt uncomfortably out of place looking at the fish corpses—there was no nicer way of thinking of it—displayed on ice.
The shop smelled of sea and death and so did the fishmonger and she made her selection quickly and then trotted out the door with her stinking prize tucked into her saddlebags.
She knew nothing about eating a fish or preparing a fish to be eaten but she reasoned that the cat would know, so she set it on a plate for him and went inside to see if she could wash the smell off herself.
•••
When she came back out, he was on the porch and the fish was gone, all but the bones. She could see the bulge in his belly.
She didn’t approach him; instead, she sat down on the porch across from him, wondering if he might turn tail and disappear into her flowers again, but he did not.
He studied her and he licked his paw and wiped it across his face, and then he moved across the porch and gently rubbed his cheek against her foreleg—a cat-nuzzle.
She leaned down and brushed her nose across the top of his head. He stank of fish and outside and his fur was slightly greasy but it was nothing that a quick brushing couldn’t fix.
“Wait right here,” she told him. She didn’t have a proper cat-brush of course, because she didn’t like cats. But she had her own curry brush and that would do nicely.
He was still there when she returned and he looked up at her with interest.
He’s probably never been brushed before so he’ll be nervous. Her little sister had always been a squirmer when she got brushed.
She moved down slowly and warily. He might turn on her at any moment and hiss or claw or bite because he was a cat and cats were all jerks but he didn’t. He stretched out on his belly and let her brush him down, slicking out his coat. Even if he was dull-colored, he was a very pretty cat.
•••
She left a window open when it rained—just a little bit, enough room for a cat to squeeze through if he wanted to get out of the rain.
Not long after that, she started leaving the window open all the time and feeding him indoors. The smell of fish wasn’t so bad once she’d gotten used to it, and it turned out that the pegasi at the fishmongers were quite knowledgeable about which fish cats liked and how long fish could be kept and any other number of fish facts that she’d never needed to know before.
One morning her alarm clock broke and he woke her, gently biting at her ear until she woke up. She yelled at him at first, then realized how high the sun was in the sky and apologized profusely as she hurried through her morning routine.
Every couple of days, she got a pint of cream from the milkmare for him until he’d filled out all the way and his fur was glossy and shiny and silky.
•••
He liked batting at her braid, eventually mastering the art of removing her hair tie when she got home from work.
He curled up next to her on the couch when she read, purring happily all the while, and she took him to market with her, either in a saddlebag or simply riding on her back.
•••
“I thought you hated cats.”
She nodded. “I do. He’s not my cat.”
“He’s in your house, there’s a saucer of milk in the kitchen, fish in your icebox, and a scratching post right over there.”
“Yes.”
“And either you’re having a foal and haven’t told me or Mom, or else that’s a brush for cats, too, right there on your end table.”
“He likes having his coat brushed.”
“Mm-hm. He’s very pretty.” Her little sister nuzzled the cat’s head. “What’s his name?”
“Socks, ‘cause of his black socks.”
“You have a cat,” her sister declared.
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In lieu of a blog post:
I was browsing Derpibooru as one does, and came across this adorable image, and from that point one thing led to another and here we are.
It’s true that you don’t own a cat, the cat owns you. If you’ve never had a cat, you won’t understand.
Back in Ye Olden Times, a lot of houses had little doors where the milkman would deliver the bottles of milk, and you’d leave the empties there for him. Probably some of y’all have actually seen houses with those little doors and have no idea what they were for.
pbs.twimg.com/media/DYDA8e7X0AIiDp3.jpg
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My grandpa’s house had one.
Fishmongers of course sell fish, and iceboxes are what people used to use to keep things cold, back before electric refrigerators were invented. Conceptually, it was the same idea as a cooler, except that there was a separate chamber for the ice.
hepcatshaven.files.wordpress.com/2012/01/img_0012.jpg
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Curry combs are stiff brushes used for grooming animal coats. Obviously, one for an equine will typically be larger than one for a cat.
chicksaddlery.com/Merchant2/graphics/00000001/RC295.JPG
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You have one of those cats too, huh? Ours is about 18 years old, and has survived being run over in the driveway (but he *moves* out of the way now whenever a car starts, so it was educational)
This... This is beautiful. Also, Extremely Accurate.
A lovely little story. It seems to me that she hates the idea of owning any pet more than simply disliking them for what they are. Of course, companionship is a very valuable reward for the effort put in, but to each their own, I suppose.
I feel like you should have mentioned reptiles. Small snakes, lizards, and turtles can be a lot of fun to own and care for.
9048382
That's what the first Life is FOR. Education.
My ex-wife's mother end up with a squirrel through this exact method.
his fur was glossy
Silver Glow's Animal Categories
Birds: hawky birds, chirpy birds, ducky birds
Dogs: yappy dogs, barky dogs
Cats: hissy cats, purry cats
Fish: yummy fish
Spot-on summation of cats. And of the people who fall under their evil magical spells!
I used to have a book very similar to this when I was small, called The Very Best Christmas Present.
Such a fun little story to read. Always nice to read slice of life.
My cats have always been rescues, and it funny, I have felt my name and address was on some sort of cats crags listing.
I have never picked out a cat, they have found me, and just expected to move in, and most of the time have been very nice, and I can totally believe that one was clever enough to find itself a nice spot in a house with someone who have said they don't like cats.
Cat is as cat does.
So I take it one of those wild kitten you complained about wormed his way into your life.
At least she isn't allergic to cats. I have known more then a few cats that have latched onto a person who is allergic to them.
Ah, the daring double-contraction, so rarely seen in the wild.
Write more for us, AB, write about us like you write for your French girls.
This man has cats.
Actually, not all cats swipe when you pet their belly, at least not right away. Some love it (mine does!), some hate it and they're just lying around more than anything, some let you pet a certain number of times and THEN they tell you off. They don't quite understand we're not other cats, so they just treat us like big cats who overstep sometimes, and expect us to Get the Point. But people don't get the point, so they get Mad and really go after you.
Thing is, science screwed up at first and based all their research on the wrong branch of Small Wild Cats. Our pet cats are descended from the African branch's literal African Wild Cat, not the European branch with lynxes. So they hang out together and are fairly social, tend to bring kills home, and they purr. No word on if they do the blelelele thing when scratched, though.
Also, behold! One healthy looking adult.
catsg.org/typo3temp/pics/bce312a546.jpg
9048469
That's how I got my first cat. She just turned up one day, and she was kind of prone to biting and latching onto your leg at first. Eventually though, I became her favorite. She was a surprisingly sweet cat after a while, and mostly stopped being a wild cat.
She left the way she arrived; suddenly and with no explanation. This story reminded me of her, and by extension, my other pets I've had. Thank you.
9048360
Nope, sorry. I knew. What I don't know is how common was it to have those doors both the inside and outside of the house. Because I would assume it was uncommon but every single one of the houses with them (aside from the ones that filled it with cement or bricks) had the ability to get the milk without having to go outside.
This is a proper way to get a cat
Back then, when I still lived with my parents, we had several cats over the years. I think we *never* needed to buy one of those. Either we got kittens for free or they just "moved in" :-)
Nothing negative from me Cute lil story that deserves all the praise.
Keep up the amazing work.
a vary good and sweet little story.
Either she has a cat, or the cat has a pony, but either way it's time for *scritches*
You simply found the right cat miss unicorn.
Essentially how my sister has gotten her cats, though less reluctant in her case. Lovely little slice of life.
This fic is a tiny bundle of heartwarming perfection.
You may know this but there were some ice boxes that had a door on the back for the ice man to put ice in. It was on the back and faced the window or a small door on the outside of house. The ice delivery was made outside of the house. They're called 'jealous husband ice boxes'. I have an old one. Just a little piece of history.
Great story, Biscuit. I have two horses and two goats and a cat that I got the same way.
I think I remember some report that there were more cat owners in the country than there were cats, so some of the cats were in fact sharing themselves out between multiple owners and helping all of them dispose of any unused food. Very charitable of them.
And so, this cat had a pony that doesn't like cats.
She clearly loves them.
lots of "I don't own a cat moments'
loved this... i was hooked after the first couple paragraphs.
This was a beautiful story. Great work.
What a sweet story.
9049891
Agreed.
So great.
9048382
I don’t, actually. One of them tried, but I was made of sterner stuff than our protagonist and evicted him. If he’d been respectful I might have been respectful back, but he just let himself in and started eating garbage and I wasn’t going to have that.
And yes, it was a cat and not a raccoon.
The feral that lived on my property that I occasionally fed . . . no idea how old she was, but it was probably pretty old. She was around for something like eight years after I moved in, and the neighbors had full-grown cats that had been her kittens.
9048386
Cats, I think, are the best at following people (or ponies) home and adopting them.
9048393
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much” (which would have been the title of the blog post if I’d done one). Yeah, she can think of lots of reasons to not want a pet, but when the right one shows up and melts her heart . . .
I did think about that, but I felt that in general that’s not a pet that would occur to most ponies. And yes, I do realize that Pinkie has Gummy and Rainbow has Tank, but they’re both weird (the ponies not the pets).
When I lived in Kalamazoo, we had a pet slug for a while. She was pretty cool. Didn’t do much, of course, since she was a slug.
9048406
I’m not sure that I’d want a pet squirrel (although I know some people that really want sugar gliders, and that’s kinda the same thing).
9048409
Correction made; thank you!
I would say that’s pretty accurate. Although you did forget “fish that should feel bad because they weren’t yummy.”
9048428
9048438
I never had that particular book, at least not as far as I can remember.
As I recall, there was at least one James Harriot story much like that, where a big gruff farmer complaining all the time about how he hates the cat was spotted with it asleep on his lap or something like that (James Harriot told the story much better than I just did
).
9048440
Thank you!
Adorable, simply adorable.
9048469
Cats know, man. Cats talk, and once they’ve got a chink in your armor, that’s it; it’s all over.
9048490
The cat abides.
greatinspire.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/21-Cute-Sleeping-Cat-Pictures-2.jpg
9048521
No, thank heavens. I’m perfectly happy to have a cat-free house.
Perfectly happy.
9048536
I know all about that. I am allergic to cats, and every time I go somewhere with cats, one of them instantly becomes my BFF and doesn’t want to leave me alone until I’m ready to gouge out my own eyeballs.
9050417
9048541
Which is a real shame, since it’s such a beautiful bit of English.
Um . . . Se hie in hert fan izer en in stim as in reagerel?
derpicdn.net/img/view/2014/12/18/787631__safe_artist-colon-teammagix_oc_oc-colon-glistening+ray_oc-colon-golden+seastone_oc-colon-oddette_oc+only_mermaid_merpony.jpeg
With apologies to MeatLoaf.