by Daniel Coffman

Created on: February 27, 2007   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

I am a man, 36 years old, married with two kids. I'm big, mad and hairy (like Hagrid). People tell me that with my size, build, long hair and goatee that I resemble a biker. Until I tell them I own a cat. Then, I suddenly become a sissy.

What is so effeminate about owning a feline? Sure, most dogs are bigger, bark loudly, bite people, etc. That's not manly; that's uncivilized. And no, those two words are not synonymous. I haven't bitten anyone in months, as a matter of fact. But, I digress. Cats may be smaller, quieter, and less likely to try to eat your neighbor's kids; but that necessarily doesn't make them a "woman's pet". I've owned both cats and dogs for years. My parents had a dog before they had me; and we were always taking in stray kittens. While I like both animals, for various reasons I'd rather have a cat in my home.

I've seen cats hunt. If you've never witnessed a cat stalk it's prey, I can understand having the misconception that they're a wussy pet. If you watch a cat spend 18 hours a day sleeping, getting up only to eat, lick itself, bat a toy around, then go back to sleep, you're only seeing part of the picture. Having an "outside" cat as a kid granted me an eye-opening education into the violent and scary side of nature. Harry (an incorrectly-named female cat) stalked, pounced on, then proceeded to torture and finally kill a chipmunk when I was 11. I tried to rescue it, and learned not to get between a cat and its prey.

Some of my fondest cat memories are of Stripe, a huge beast of a cat. He wasn't fat; he was just built like a predator. And predator he was. He used to bring home dead animals as presents. These "presents" grew in size over the years, starting with little bunnies in his first year to a full-size groundhog when he was five. While walking in the woods one afternoon, I accidentally came across Stripe, tugging with all his might on a leg... of a full-grown deer! Although I doubt he actually killed it himself (although I wonder sometimes), I was impressed with his tenacity. Before he was struck by a car and killed, he was a tough but affectionate friend who slept in my room many a night. He was also the cat I witnessed lay atop our bird feeder for nearly 45 minutes, motionless, until a bird finally landed underneath him to eat. He slowly opened his paws, leaned forward, and dropped, catching the startled and doomed robin in his paws and breaking its neck when they hit the ground.

When I moved into my first apartment, my neighbors cat

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