But all I can think when someone does that is, "...And your point is...?"
Yeah, Birch probably does love me just because I feed him. But what do you think I love him for? Is it his rapier wit? Perhaps it's because of his tireless fundraising for breast cancer research and his stint in the Peace Corps. Or wait, I know, it's all the times we stayed up all night talking because he was just so fascinating and brilliant that I didn't want the conversation to end!
|"Aw, sweetheart, you keep dozing off...seriously, get off the couch and go to bed. We can discuss my theories on existentialism some other time."|
I'm being facetious, of course. Sure, Birchy's little peanut brain lacks the capacity for deep and spiritual love...but I'm not in love with him in a deep and spiritual way, either. He has no depth or spirituality. He's a cat. Rather, our love for each other is the animal kind: we get along well and we're each getting what we need, and that's enough. What started out as a business arrangement - trading companionship and physical affection for food and shelter - was so fulfilling that we became attached to each other.
|Goddamn, I look dapper. I need to 'shop my face onto dudes more often.|
In conclusion: my cynical friends have underestimated me. I already know my cat is just using me; I'm also just using him. So far, it's working out just fine.