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Soul of a woman was created from cats.
Cats are funny. If you’re around a cat, it won’t deign to give you more than a passing token of affection, usually around dinner time. But if you leave it alone for a couple of days, upon return it will rush up to you, urgently meowing and bumping its head into your leg, starved for affection. It will then curl up in your lap, thankful you are back home, and purr contentedly until a glisten of cat saliva forms on its mouth. Then, once a certain amount of time has passed in your lap, (as determined by whatever cat brain mechanism is at work), the cat will decide it has had its fill of your love and promptly jump off to saunter out of the room with the closest approximation to a haughty look a cat can muster. If you attempt to follow it for more petting, it will harshly meow and maybe even take a swipe at you.
The cat wants your love on its terms. It does not value your affection freely given. It is most loveable when it has been psychologically mindfucked to believe it was on the verge of being abandoned. Just like women.
This inscrutability and natural aloofness perfectly explains the appeal of cats to women, and why they identify so strongly with the hellforged beasts. They see in them reflections of their gender’s psychological traits, and, being cognitively biased to project onto an idealized man that which comprises their own contours of sexual desire, thus anthropomorphize the cat into the alpha male lover they wish was courting them.
I like cats. They’re cute, fluffy stress balls. Give ‘em a squeeze round the middle and feel your stress melt away. But dogs make better pets. Dog owners tend to be earthy and grounded. Cat owners tend to be drama-prone and concerned with image.