If you’ve heard this anecdote before, I apologize in advance. The last time I was visiting in the Chicago area, a couple people I saw talked about how it was strange I hadn’t always been a cat person. You don’t really become a cat person by choice. Your cats force you into it. Otherwise, you’d just be insane. If I gave it much thought, I’d be bewildered some people live without the threat of a turd on the floor just because one of the cats got too excited by the sound of food dishes to pinch off their loaf. Not everyone lives in what is a cat habitat decorated as a human house. Anyway, before being a cat person, I was a rat person. You choose to be a rat person. There are lots of rewards—rats are wonderful creatures. Their turds are even cute. Their pee puddles are small and dry well and don’t smell on linen. They show affection, they bond, they’re great. It’s nice to find other rat people because we all appreciate the similarly wonderful situations you find yourself in as a rat owner. There are the downsides, of course, but people a cat person is sort of like being a hostage. It’s almost like cats know they’re adorable as kittens and resent you for it—humans are the ones who assign the “adorable” tag, after all. Rats act like you’re adorable. They’re great.