It’s the truth, my little plant biters, that some cats are cuddlers and some are not. Some cats like to sleep on your beating heart. Others prefer to keep a tail’s length between you. And I, with one exception, do not like to be picked up.
You can guess the name of the one person who can pick me up without any resistance or complaint from me.
When they see a beautiful kitty, the first thing some human beans want to do is grab it and hoist it aloft. While Miss Sugar empathizes with the desire to hold such a soft and lovely creature close to you, she must educate you on the wisdom of resisting such an urge.
We don’t like it!
Okay, some of us do like it. But how are you going to tell the difference until it’s too late for one or both of you? Many a surprised cat has given many a deep scratch to the arms of an impulsive human. Heed my words and spare yourself before you’re scarred for life by the flailing toenails of a frightened feline.
Take a cats-eye stance on the topic. You’re, say, somewhere around 60-70 inches high. I’m a floor creature. You look like a giant. Up there, where you are, is scary. Yet you think that suddenly swooping me up to that towering height would be a-okay with me? Imagine a 6 coupon ride at the fair that goes straight up without warning. If you’re thinking, that sounds like fun, I’m here to explain that you couldn’t be more wrong.
The Trouble With Getting High
It’s the uncertainty of it all. Oh sure, we’ve all heard that cats always land on their feet. But we don’t want to drop and have to test the theory.
And it’s not how our Mothers carried us. Mom grabbed us by the scruff and toted us around. Please, please do not do that, either. Also, Mother took us short distances, quite close to the ground. You, you big galoot, would make us hover on high until something shiny caught your attention and you went on your way.
Some of us associate being lifted with painful trips to the vet. Others, like me, have arthritis, and it simply hurts to get grabbed the wrong way.
If You Must, Do it Thusly
If you find you absolutely have to carry a cat – say, the house is on fire and its for the kitty’s own good – may I suggest the Mexican way? The burrito method is your best option, no refried beans necessary. I have been burrito wrapped and it’s quite cozy when it’s completed by someone with knowledge and confidence.
In summary, a cat isn’t an inanimate object for you to lug about at will. We have feelings, wants and needs and frankly, we don’t trust you! Some say we’re snooty but in fact, we are simply particular about how things should be done. If you’re not sure whether or not we like to get picked up, kindly refrain. Or put another way, unless we ask to get picked up, don’t do it! Or you might wear the evidence of your folly in the form of scratches and bites. I warned you!
Think of a cat you don’t know well as a short, furry Greta Garbo.
Unless, of course, you’re this guy:
Until next time, my little fur shedders! Keep your paws on the ground and your nose in the air. That’s how you get the best scents!
Your friend,
Miss Sugar
Thank you Miss Sugar. I like your independence. And I think it means more when your cat comes to you instead of us pushing ourselves on you. Please continue to educate us.
Enjoy your day. No sun here, but maybe a sunbeam tomorrow to lay in.
Miss Sugar says, “Roberta is right. Let us come to you! We like to make our own choices.”
Dear, M.G. I share your affection for the human pictured with you. People, in general, are often not wise about approaching animals. With wildlife, it is a just Darwinian end, for some. Domestics like you are to be respected as well. Case in point. While sitting outside at an eatery recently with a friend, and her dog, a young man decided to just step to the pretty puffy puppy and in a very forthright fashion. As you mention, Miss Sugar, from your perspective, that careless approach is an imposing advance. Particularly when a large young male is dressed head to toe in black, and with there being very little light after the golden hour. And so, “Pretty, Puffy (white almost seventy five pound) Puppy,” set the young man straight in short order, with an exposed grill, replete with menacing Husky growl that Stephen King might hear fit to sample, as protector jumped to all fours and pulled his leash taught to establish his guardian role; his actual occupation, in his view. Thanks, Miss Sugar for a pertinent reminder that many of our animal friends do not suffer fools gladly. Foolish is the biped that forgets!
Strike M.G. and replace with M.S. Deepest apologies, Miss Sugar. The moniker mishap happened pre caffeine.