Psst, don’t tell anyone, but I’ve become a cat person

This is probably one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to confess, but I’ve become a cat person.

Given Western Australia is a FIFO-fuelled state, where a decent slice of the populace own monstrous mutts that match their jumbo jalopies, that might be an unmanly thing to divulge.

Sabrina the cat, in all her majesty.Credit: Brendan Foster

Until recently, I had always identified as a dog person. Relax, I’m not gently outing myself as a therian – someone who spiritually, physically, or psychologically sees themselves as an animal.

Good luck to them. Although, I’d imagine a gigantic kitty litter in the office would raise a few occupational, health and safety issues.

Maybe it’s because pooches have partnered us on our evolutionary journey that I have always found their reckless bravery and loyalty so compelling and irresistible.

My DNA propelled me to have a canine as a companion.

But without intending to, I’ve developed a deep affection for our two cats, Salem and Sabrina, that I never thought imaginable.

When our 15-year-old blue heeler died in May, I just assumed once the gut-wrenching grief lessoned, I would get another hound.

Our animals cohabited in almost perfect harmony, but mousers are like avant-garde jazz musicians– they need space to grow and breathe. Given the freedom of the whole house, tabbies bring a gentler rhythm to the joint.

There is a Buster Keaton-style goofiness to their playfulness that has injected an unexpected warmth and humour into our lives.

The weekends are filled with them both acting out their unique vaudevillian plays.

Salem will awkwardly spring up like a drunken Cirque du Soleil acrobat and start wrestling a piece of bark or fallen leaf. That would be too low-brow for dogs.

He is a skittish, paranoid, arrogant, slender black cat that belongs in a Dickens novel. When not hiding from the world, he perches himself on the top of the couch waiting to embrace the next person who sits down.

However, any uninitiated pats outside the realms of the lounge room will see him recoil in horror as if you just attempted to stroke him with leprosy-infected hands.

His deathly stare afterwards reminds me of those moggies that leaped onto an ageing person’s bed in a nursing home moments before they exit stage right. Two minutes later, he’s dive-bombing onto your lap, looking for a cuddle.

Sabrina has a wailing meow very similar to Bulgarian mezzo-soprano Smilyana Zaharieva, who is in the Guinness Books of Records for the loudest vocal note.

She struts into the room like Greta Garbo with her primordial pouch swinging low and plonks herself onto the centre of the kitchen table, demanding her ears be massaged by any passing human.

There is an undeniable gracefulness in almost everything she does.

Sabrina, who is of the tabby variety, also has a rare altruistic side. At least once a week you will open the bedroom door to find a severed rat’s head staring up at you. (Yes, I know feral and domestic cats are killing machines that slaughter millions of animals each year, but rodents are vermin).

Brendan Foster and Sabrina the cat. Credit: Brendan Foster

But there is a depth to their personalities that most dog lovers like me have always overlooked because cats are ultimately introverted.

I have no doubt I’ll need to discuss the following line with my therapist, but you can have a meaningful relationship with your feline friends.

And best of all, it’s a low-maintenance love affair. Dogs are demanding, and needy, and dump 10-20 sloppy land mines in your garden each week.

Pussycats will rise from a 12-hour nap on your pillow, and, if their bowl is full to the top with biscuits, won’t try and swipe your eyeballs out.

However, I’ve noticed there is a colossal divide in society when it comes to loving the two domestic species. It seems since time immemorial we are meant to be monogamous with our allegiance to pets.

There is no space for bipetuals.

But why we prefer one furry housemate over another might have more to do with our personalities than we are willing to admit.

Professor Denise Guastello at Carroll University in Wisconsin surveyed 600 people about their preferred pet ownership.

She discovered dog lovers were found to be more energetic and outgoing and tended to follow rules closely. On the other hand, cat fanciers were more introverted, open-minded and sensitive.

It gets bleaker for shy animal lovers.

Last year, researchers from James Cook University found canophiles were likely to be more resilient than cataholics and less neurotic. And the contrast may be down to personality differences inherent between the two groups of people.

“It may be that influences on ownership are linked with genetically derived personality traits, so both the personality trait and propensity to own a particular animal are inherited,” psychology lecturer Jessica Oliva, co-author of the study, said.

“Simply put, people who are naturally predisposed to being resilient may like dogs more, rather than the dog causing people to be resilient.”

However, she said it wasn’t possible to know if neuroticism drove people to own moggies or whether cat ownership caused people to become more neurotic.

It makes sense. If you’re out walking the fleabag most nights you are bound to develop stronger social skills because humans devolve into slobbering, chatty, idiot savants at the sight of even the most hideous looking bitzer on a leash.

Most cat owners I know would dive behind trees, or pretend to be mute, rather than converse.

And tail-waggers are called “man’s best friend” for a reason.

Although one must question the sanity of the person associated with coining the phrase – Frederick II, King of Prussia – given the monarch also owned a tame monkey named Mimi, whom he always allowed to sit next to him in the library.

When it comes to devotedness, hounds are unmatched in their faithfulness. If you suddenly dropped dead in the shower, the beloved bowwow would stay by your side for weeks.

Cats would give it 48 hours before slowly gnawing away on your right arm.

The great rift between feline enthusiasts and canine canoodlers will rage on for centuries.

But the next time some mind-numbingly, boring person asks me whether I’m a moggie or a mutt person, I will zestfully inform them I’m a felinophile.

For now, anyway, until the machines take over and make us their pets.

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