Comedy Corner: Persian, tabby, calico — he hates them all

I hate cats.
My first encounter with a cat was when I was 16 years old in 1977. I really liked this girl my sophomore year in high school, and I was at her house when it struck.
I was sitting on her couch, wanting to get to first base, when, out of nowhere, her calico cat jumped up on me, purring for attention.
I did not know yet that I was extremely allergic to cats, even though, while I was sitting there, I became short of breath. I just thought it was hormones, if you get my drift.
Anyway, all of a sudden, I started sneezing and wheezing, and all sorts of bodily fluids started shooting out of me. The girl and the cat freaked out, and she swiped me across my cheek.
I mean the cat.
There I was, having a full-blown asthma and allergy attack, all in one explosive incident. I calmly excused myself and told the girl I had to get home.
Having difficulty seeing while driving, I looked in the rearview mirror and realized my right eye was swollen shut.
The only one who scored that night was the cat, and it was a strikeout.
I hate cats. The only cat I truly like is Garfield, and the reason I like him is that he stays on the page.
Now, let’s fast-forward 30-some years to the present. I am a happy-go-lucky dog owner.
Without going into major detail on my living situation, I will just say that my dog, Blue, and I live in the front of our house. Downstairs in the back is an in-law apartment that my landlord rented to a man and his newly adopted SPCA cat. He stated he got the cat because he wanted a pet that was not needy for attention, because he was going to be gone a lot.
Famous last words.
It’s the most codependent, needy cat I have ever met in my life. I told myself, as long as that cat stays on its side of the property and leaves me and my dog alone, I don’t care.
I need to state at this point in the story that, for some reason, cats love me. It doesn’t matter where I go; if one of my friends has a cat, it soon shows up out of nowhere, on my lap, purring and laying claim to my body as its scratching post. People always say, “My cat never jumps up on people and lays down on them like that!” It has now become so bizarre that I have given up trying to get away when I see one of these beasts coming at me.
So, the first night the cat downstairs arrived, I was on my computer writing when, all of a sudden, this creature comes out of nowhere and jumps up on my keyboard, scrambling my words, messing up my column. I screamed like a little girl and started shouting, “Shoo! Shoo!”
Of course, it just sat there and purred at me.
It then slipped underneath my monitor and stretched out and went to sleep. The nerve of this gray, green-eyed tomcat with white paws! It must have come through an open window.
I will keep you informed in the coming columns on the cat’s coming and goings. I have also changed its name to “A.R.” — “Allergic Reaction.”
I kind of strongly dislike cats.
Michael Larson is a 14-year resident of Felton and an aspiring comedy writer. He lives with his dog, Blue. E-mail him at

mi***************@ya***.com











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