I never was a cat person. I could’ve lived my life without a cat. My wife loved cats, though, and soon we had a cat. I put my foot down at one. Then I put my foot down at two. Then three. They stopped at three, though I don’t think my foot had anything to do with it. Anyway, she had three cats. I had two litter boxes. That was the man’s job, she said. Seemed logical to me, so sure. You sleep with a guy you can get him to agree to just about anything.

Anyway cats died, were replaced by other cats. Finally, about a decade ago and thirty years or so after the first cat I put my foot down about showed up, the sixth died. We were catless. We’re too old for another cat, I said. Or maybe I said too handicapped. Whatever. And I never want to change a litter box again, I added. That was really putting my foot down, and was true. I really never ever wanted to clean out another litter box. She agreed. If she hadn’t we’d have our seventh, eighth and ninth cats. I put the cat boxes in the garbage can before she could change her mind.

I never missed having a cat on the house. Not even for a minute. I loved being catless. No litter boxes to clean out. It was heaven. I liked cats though. I’d pet the cat or cats when we went to our friends’ places. I’d listen to their endless cat stories. Look at their kitty pictures.

At some point, though, I stopped being a cat person. Well, I never really was a cat person, but I was cat tolerant. And I’m still cat tolerant, just less so. I don’t mind if their cat doesn’t come up to me to get petted. I’m fine if the cat doesn’t acknowledge my existence. I hate when the cat crawls into my lap.

I’m thoroughly enjoying not being a cat person. I’m loving living in a catless household. If I never had to pet a cat again I’d be fine with that. But more than anything there is the knowledge that I’ll never have to smell fresh cat shit again. That alone is heaven.

Time to clean the fish tank, though.