We used to think of ourselves as cat people. However, several psychological studies attribute particular personality characteristics to species preference, like extroversion for dog owners and neuroticism for cat owners. If they’re right, much of our lives we have been barking up the wrong tree.
My husband grew up with cats, but also dogs, sheep, horses, ducks, swans and peacocks. When I met him, not only did he have an adorable kitten, but he had populated his fraternity with its kitten siblings. This could be construed as a brazen attempt to gain the attention of women, but I regarded it more as a predictor of a caring nature. His other family of-origin pets seemed to speak to his father’s farm fantasy, not personality. Coincidentally managing all these animals provided practice surviving low-level chaos and honing communication styles, great skills for raising kids.
I, on the other hand, started life off in the company of my mother’s caged parakeet, bought at the local Woolworth’s to keep her company I suppose, as she waited for me to be born. It was only after Smokey’s demise that several goldfish, two cats, and later a dog came into the picture. Though my father was surprised by the beagle, it was not a monkey after all, which my best friend had, but that is another tale. Our pets were orderly, low maintenance, but high on our list of loving adoration.
John’s cat accompanied him into our marriage, followed by a succession of eight others, including two who rule the house today. After three children, our list of dependents expanded to include a pair of exotic turtles, a guinea pig, tank and pond fish, several bullfrogs, a couple of parakeets, and inevitably a dog – not at the same time, of course, but overlapping.
Whatever species preferences might signal to researchers, living with pets sometimes sidesteps sorting. I rather like being an enigma, as we craft worlds of our own.
