My apartment has a “No Pets” rule.
It’s somewhat understandable, I guess. I mean, sure, dogs and cats can be annoying and noisy. They can cause property damage over time, and the fluffy ones shed like crazy in the Florida summer. And I might not object to these rules, except for the fact that most of my neighbors have children.
And not quiet, play-video-games-indoors children.
Wild, noisy, destructive, run-in-the-streets-all-day children.
Children that are far more noisy and messy than my cats could ever strive to be.
And, while I wouldn’t mind a “No Pets or Kids” rule, obviously the “or Kids” part wouldn’t fly. But then, I have to ask, why is “No Pets” okay? Infertile couples, Tokophobic couples, and Child-Free couples have a drive to nurture, too. And the need to nurture is exactly that: A psychological need. It just so happens that humans can’t trigger mine.
My cats do more for me than a human child ever could. My cats give me a reason to get up and go to work. They need food, and shelter, and attention. My cats are my comfort when I’m sick and sad. My cats love me, unconditionally.
And when I say unconditionally, I mean it- I can’t count the number of times I’ve accidentally tripped over them, or stepped on their tails or paws.
My cats always forgive (and probably forget; Banshee’s not very smart).
My cats are my family.
Love knows no gender. Love knows no race, or breed. Love knows no genus or species.
Love doesn’t give a shit.
So why does my apartment?