Letters

LETTER: Can’t you control your cats!

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Hello? Excuse me? Is anybody out there listening?

I mean, why is everybody out there sending pictures of felines in any of hundreds of cutsie poses to, supposedly, encourage or otherwise prompt people to support our SPCA?

Do not mistake me. I am in full favour of and fully support our local SPCA. It is an important and necessary part of our, or anyone’s  for that matter, city. But why cats? There are dogs or squirrels or raccoons or foxes or bears or any one of a dozen other more deserving animals to choose from.

So why cats?

There are well over eight million cats out there already, and they are stalking and killing and murdering and maiming and decimating our birds.

We need our birds far more than we need any form of cats. Birds are an important part of our environment. They devour millions of annoying and harmful insects — every day. They help in the vital procedure of cross-pollinating flowers and crops. They are inspirational in dozens of ways to poets, and artists and writers and song singers and music composers. Not to mention scientists and industries — yes! Aviation for one. Birds inspired the Wright brothers to wonder what it must be like to fly. Et voila! Air Canada.

Cats, on the other hand, are just, well, cats.

Now, I am aware that I am going to be the object of endless persiflage about this topic from cat huggers. However, I am up to here with unsupervised, unowned and untrained specimens of Felidae domesticus.

Why is it not mandatory for cat owners, (I use the term lightly, as no one can “own” a cat!) to license their animal? (like dogs used to be). Why do owners not have to have them on a leash when their cats go for a walk? Even muzzled — like dogs?

And speaking of prowls, can cat owners not be held responsible for keeping their cat on and in their own back (or front, for that matter) yards?

Can you, if not teach, then supervise or otherwise impress upon him/her/it, that my back yard is off limits for them? And my bird baths are not double sinks for their ablutions. And my water plants are not bidets provided for their comfort. And especially that the green expanse in front and behind my house, known as a lawn, is not, repeat not, their private toilet nor am I their personal clean-up-after valet service.

How, you ask?

Well, firstly realize that, that little cutsie-wootsie-cuddly-wuddly, oh so beguiling thing you  just “can’t resist” will rapidly grow into various varieties of Felis horribilus and will need increasing amounts of nurturing, and food and feeding and veterinary services and exercising and care and supervision and your company.

You cannot just open the door and say, “OK out you go! Be sure you are back by morning before I have to go to work.”

And by all that is sane and sensible-have the darn thing spayed. If everyone who had one or two or more of the furry little beasts did that one thing, just think, there might come a day when  Felis domesticus, sub species horribilus, might become extant, maybe even —oh, delicious delirium — extinct.

 

Mary Mortimer

Nelson

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