My little snowball got her bi-weekly bath. Now she’s freshly groomed and looks like a ball of fluff. Though she’s a 10-year-old Maltese, she’s pretty much like a friendly kitty. So just like a cat, she perched on my chest wanting cuddles.
Of late, I’ve realised that most people who hate bitches are either (a) painfully aware that they can keep striving but never reach the high standards set by one, or (b) a lazy bastards incapable of keeping up with the viciously moody Poochie. Cool, calm (after losing shit and barking at random things that may or may not be a threat), couldn’t give a flying fuck when called, a million buck attitude, just do as duty requires and then chill under the sun after demanding some attention and cuddles – that’s my Poochie. My grand Ol’Dame.
What baffles me though is this: women always get compared to cats. I feel that’s an unfair comparison homogenising feline and female characteristics. I see myself more like a dog. A bitch to be precise. I have realised that being tough, ambitious, and knowing what I want – is just another way of getting anxious felines (not gendering here – male or female – have your pick) to hiss in my general direction. As is the case of everyone of my-kind, our affection for them kitties don’t fade; cause we are aware that Tom and Jerry could be best friends but their life would be incomplete and a boring charade without Spike.
Loyal, loving, caring, viciously protective, knowing self worth, sassy, snarky, and not backing off from a fight when needed – that’s a bitch in a nutshell. And just as most people prefer to have a dog or a cat at home over a bitch, I have noticed that same trend in relationship patterns. It takes a strong character to get some love and devotion out of a bitch and even a stronger character to not abandon a bitch.
And with all the flying finger gestures to the general direction of “such a bitch” commentators, let’s just face this fact – some of us single women are bitches you couldn’t tame.
ANTHROPOLOGY OF LOVE 