4 Reasons Why Having 2 Cats Confirmed I Don’t Want Kids


I’ve never really been interested in having kids. What can I say, everything they say about us child-free hopefuls is true for me. I’m selfish, I have no motherly instincts and I’m probably going to die alone anyway, so who cares! But what really confirmed to me that I never want the little runts in my life were my two cats creepily staring at me from across the room, reminding me of that faithful day I forgot to use protection against them while volunteering at a shelter. *shivers* Here’s how my cats have shown me I’m really not up for parenting, probably ever:

1. I try to buy their love.

Seriously. New toys, tasty new treats. I’m even thinking about raising my credit card limit in order to afford another cat tree for them. I feel like a divorced dad that still wants his kids to love him. I’m about to go into foreclosure just thinking about how much I have spent on them. It’s so bad, I can’t even go into your every day pet store without wanting everything in the place. An electric, purified water bowl that shoots fireworks everytime my cat takes a sip? They need that.

“Buy me catnip mommy!”

“Sure, sure little Billy, whatever it will do to shut you u- I mean, love you.”

My child would end up on the Doctor Phil show, I already know it. Headline: Louis Vuitton or love, my awful childhood upbringing.

2. I don’t have the mental energy.

The countless times I have opened my bedroom door and just walked past my two boys as they stared at me wide-eyed and ready for love is no stop short of neglect. I beeline it to my laptop and comfortable bed and leave them neglected on the floor, staring at the wall or doing whatever it is neglected cats do. I have to remind myself that I’m supposed to actually speak to the things every now and again and it usually goes something like this:

“H-hey guys. How are you? Ya’ doin’ okay? Playin’? Doin’ stuff? That’s good. Have a good day” *pet, pet*

And then I proceed to watch Sex and the City for two hours.

God, I would be a terrible parent.

3. My over-protectiveness/overthinking is as insanely ridiculous as this article.

Thoughts at night: What will I do if they get sick?…The newest one is getting fat…too fat. Ohmygosh, what if I produce fat cats? The ones people shame! And why has the first one been meowing so much? Is he trying to tell me something? In cat language? What if someone opens the door and they escape..I mean, sprint out? What if I run out of money and can’t feed them? Are they happy? Do they know I’m their friend and not just their cool mom?

4. All the responsibility.

Last but not least, I’m just too lazy. I hate cleaning their kitty poop, I hate waving a fake mouse on a string in front of them for fifteen minutes a day, (as the cat books say is proper. Yes, I read BOOKS about how to raise them). I hate chasing them around the house trying to get them in my room, I hate cleaning up their messes. I just hate it all. And the worst part is they aren’t even lap cats, so there is little to no reward. I think about that last part a lot as I smoke a cigarette while staring intensely at the kitchen sink.

I say all of this to say, if you feel even the slightest confusion about whether or not one day you want to take on the challenge of raising a precious child, get a pet. Not just one, but two! Don’t take it easy like me either, get a dog, a puppy. If you turn around the next day and Mr. Snuffles is covered in eyebrow wax with one missing leg and on fire, you may not be ready for an actual child any time soon. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to put mine in a basket, go to a rich neighborhood and leave them at a doctors door step.

“Hahahah, they’re your problem now!”

Guys I’m just kidding I love my cats….maybe.