The Truth about Cats and Dogs

Hands up if you keep dogs as pets? What about cats! Who keeps cats?

Me, I keep neither. I have no pets. I have kids or children (if you want to be politically correct). I have two children under the age of two. Are they boys are they girls, it does not matter. All you need be concerned with is to know that they are evil, smell funny and cannot light their own cigarettes. 

Every day on my way to work I get my morning coffee.  Before I had children I always looked awesome, fashionably dressed, well groomed and smelling like cinnamon sticks.  I stood among other customers, smiling, refreshed and looking forward to the day.

Now and after becoming a parent, I look terrible. I scowl and jitter. I have large dark bags under my eyes from lack of sleep. My clothes are mismatched, wrinkled and flecks of baby spew congeal and dry on my once fashionable v-neck jumper. More often than not there is baby poo wedged under my fingers nails.  I’m tired, irritable and anger bubbles from the pores of my skin. Regular baristas are attuned to my presence and go about their business with purpose. New baristas are like, “Dude, what’s up?” To which I respond, “TWO KIDS UNDER TWO MOTHERFUCKER GIMME MY COFFEE OR I FUCKING GUT YA!”

My reaction provokes three types of responses from the people around me. Those people cool with my response most likely have or had kids. They understand, keep their distance and let me vent and fume quietly while I wait for my coffee. Those without children suspect I’m suffering a bout of turrets. Childless people are easy to identify as they nervously shuffle away, fiddle with smart phones and avoid eye contact.  

The third type of response is rare, occasional and astonishingly consistent. Occasionally after an outburst a person without any distinguishing features will respond with, “Oh we don’t have children, we have pets”. They then give me a sympathetic look as if to presume they know what the hell I’m going through, smile weakly and step aside. 

Fuelled by contempt, the red mist lowers around my eyes, “PETS?” I exclaim, “PETS!”

With all my will power I turn away lest I loose control of my arms and stab them in the face with whatever is close at hand (usually a butter knife or a table number), part of me believing I should be allowed to stab people like that in face. I breathe deeply and dream of the exchange.

Them, “I don’t have children, I have pets.”

Me, “PETS!” [STAB. STAB, STAB, STAB, STAB, STAB!]

“I guess I deserved that.”

“I believe that you did.”

“Thanks, I’ll be on my way, toodle loo!”

[STAB.]