Fuck You, I'm a Robot

A friend and I came up with this theory a few years ago: that anyone who grew up in a house with three or more cats, as each of us did, is forever inured to the presence of feline urine stains on the carpet, droppings in the hall, claw-scratches on the furniture, or vomit on the bedcovers. "Oh, look at that," we think as we walk past the bedroom, "Dizzy threw up again." Then we forget about it for the next two years. Or: "Hey, Kimba, you wanna jump on my lap? Ohhh, such a good cat, yessir, pissing in my water glass, you're such a good boy!" This, you see, is why dogs chase cats: dogs have this paranoid thing about their owners that causes them to resent having to go outside to do their ejectory businesses, because they think that the master won't love them anymore if they do it in the house (not true, we only get mad for about thirty seconds), but they know the cat has to stay indoors because he's too small and too fast and therefore too much of a bait for cars passing by, and so they despise 'em. Either that or it's just fun.