I expected something truly extravagant when a reader wrote to Slate’s advice column to say she was considering doing something “wildly elitist” involving her cat.
What could it be? I wondered. Pure gold or silver eating and drinking bowls, a la Choupette? A fashionable $600 pet stroller like the young, childless women of Tokyo favor for their felines? Feeding premium meat from the butcher exclusively to her cat?
None of the above, it turns out. The allegedly “wildly elitist” thing this woman was deliberating was simply paying a veterinarian to have dental work done on her cat, with costs estimated at between $800 and $2,000, depending on the extent of the kitty’s cavities.
To make matters even stranger, the letter writer says the cost won’t be a financial hardship for her family. Their cat is only three years old, she notes, and the family has had him since he was found on the street as a kitten.
“I guess I didn’t think that part of taking him in would entail thousands of dollars to keep him alive at this stage of the game,” she wrote. “At what point do people draw the line on what it costs to save a cat’s life?”
The writer was essentially looking for “permission” to have the cat put down, for Slate’s advice columnist to virtually pat her on the head, say “There, there!” and agree that taking care of your own cat is “wildly elitist.”
Thankfully, Slate columnist Athena Valentine was having none of it, telling the woman seeking advice that “when you adopt an animal, you take financial responsibility.” Spending money on veterinary care when needed, Valentine noted, is “exactly what you signed up for” by adopting the little guy. A cat who, by the way, could easily live another decade at least.
“If you do not want to pay for your cat’s treatment, please surrender him to a rescue that will,” Valentine wrote. “The rescue will raise the funds you do not want to part with to pay for his teeth and will then adopt him out to a new home that understands the responsibilities of pet ownership. I also advise you to not adopt any more animals until you’re fully ready to accept the financial obligations that come with it.”
Cheers to Valentine for not taking the bait.
Do your feline overlords use their own beds?
One of the first things I bought for Bud, along with his litter box, bowls and toys, was a bed. It’s nothing extravagant, but it does look pretty comfortable.
He has never used it.
Or rather, he lounged on it a handful of times when he was a kitten, but he claimed my bed as his own. He was very clear on the new ownership situation, and generously allowed me to continue sleeping on my his bed as long as I accepted the fact that he would use me as a pillow, which he has been doing for more than a decade now.
A Newsweek story details the efforts of a woman who bought her cat a new bed, hoping he’d let her sleep at night, only for the feline overlord to drag his new bed onto her bed. Essentially, she bought him a new pillow.
Do cats ever do what we want them to? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.
A cat whose fantasy soccer team ranked 222 out of 13 million players
At The Athletic, Conor Schmidt writes about creating a fantasy football (soccer) team for his cat, and letting the little guy choose who to draft and trade by writing the names of players on a dry erase board and putting treats next to each name. The first treat his cat goes for is the one whose associated player is dealt or drafted.
He says his cat reached an astonishing world ranking of 222 out of almost 13 million players on the same platform worldwide, which means either the little dude has incredible luck, or he’s a genius who knows a lot more than he lets on.
Maybe I should register a fantasy basketball or baseball team for Buddy, smear turkey gravy next to players’ names, and see how he does.
Pain In The Bud 