I want to be reincarnated as a pampered house cat

If you’re looking for some mindless wanderings today you’ve come to the right place.

I like to tell people that I want to be reincarnated as a pampered house cat in my next life. Most people just shrug it off like it doesn’t mean anything. That’s probably because nobody has ever really thought it through like I have.

Now I don’t want to come back as just any old cat. I don’t want to come back as a stray cat or a factory cat or a garbage dump cat. I don’t want to have worms or ear mites, fleas or any other annoying or nasty health problems. I don’t want knots or burrs in my fur, I don’t want to have to hunt for my food, get rained on or get my pretty little paws dirty. And I certainly don’t want to get chased by any dogs!

I want to be a pampered house cat – you know the type…you probably have one or know someone who has one. I want to be the king of the castle. I want to sleep 23 hours a day and spend the other hour changing positions. I want to be offered the best food, I want to shed my fur on your most treasured posessions, I want to haughtily ignore all attempts to be amused by expensive little toys and in general to behave like a stuck-up, spoiled brat.

I want to lick my privates in public, pee beside my litter box just to annoy you and to hawk up hair balls in the middle of the night exactly where I know you’ll be walking barefoot. I want to give you dirty looks when I think you’re acting stupid, show you in no uncertain terms that you are inferior and to make you wish you got a dog instead.

Admit it! The pampered house cat is a superior being! We treat them better than royalty. They’ve got such a good life - they don’t have to work, don’t have bills to pay, they don’t know what stress is, they don’t give a damn about groceries, or interest rates or gas prices. They have never had obscenities hollered at them by some road-raged maniac in traffic, their inboxes aren’t flooded with e-mails, their voice mail isn’t full and they don’t know what it’s like to have their patience abused when they’re trying to do something and they get interrupted every 5 minutes by their cell phone. They have never been treated like an idiot, had a bad day nor been rejected. They don’t spend one iota of mental energy obsessing about global warming, zebra mussels, West Nile virus or the improper disposal of PCBs. They couldn’t care less how much they weigh, what they look like or whether their farts smell or not.

And best of all? We forgive all of their trespasses and love them unconditionally with all our hearts! We buy them the most expensive food we can afford, happily clean their litter boxes and will even sacrifice a night’s sleep in order not to disturb them if they decide to plunk themselves down in the most uncomfortable spot on the bed. We dote over them, talk about them as if they were our children and willingly share our tuna sandwiches and yogurt with them.

When they allow us to, we snuggle our faces in their warm fur and our souls are soothed by the rhythmic sound of their purring. In those magic moments all of our torments are forgotten – the traffic, the job, the stress, the bills – all of our frustrations evaporate. For a brief time we become one with our precious cat, and for just a few seconds the cat actually gives something back.

That is, of course until the cat decides that you’re being annoying, gets up, stretches, shows you his butt hole and walks away.

See? Now doesn’t that make you want to be reincarnated as a pampered house cat too?