I am a cat person. As a little girl, I didn’t like dogs at all, because I hated loud noises as a little girl, and dogs tend to bark pretty loudly. Now, as an adult, I don’t mind dogs as a rule, but I vastly prefer cats. Cats don’t require bathing; cats don’t require walking. Cats don’t sit at your feet during dinner and whimper sadly until you throw them a bit of gristle. Cats don’t bark their fool heads off every time a visitor comes to the door. Of course, cats don’t execute those nifty half-gainers in pursuit of a Frisbee either, and cats don’t wear bandannas around their necks, and you can try to humiliate a cat by affixing a pair of little antlers to its head for your Christmas-card picture, but you will fail, because cats don’t play that. Cats don’t make a federal case out of everything the way dogs do. Cats keep it casual.

A lot of the dog people don’t like that about cats. Cats do their own thing, and the dog people frequently take the independence of cats personally. Cats hurt the feelings of the dog people by not drooling and jumping around and getting all hectic, and the dog people in turn get defensive and call cats “aloof” and “sulky” and “no fun.” I suppose I can see that point of view; dogs do have a certain gratifying way of showering people with affection, and that they do so indiscriminately hardly detracts from the charm of an entire body wagging wildly at the sheer pleasure of your company. But a pair of muddy paws planted on my recently-dry-cleaned mini, or a damp nose burrowing enthusiastically in my crotch, does not say “love” to me. It says “annoying.” It comes down to a difference in style, really, and if dogs better suit your style, I have no problem with that. But part of this difference in style has to do with the amount of time cats and dogs spend interacting with other humans besides their owners. On balance, cats do not deal with the public, especially in a place like Manhattan, whereas dogs must spend a minimum of time out in the world because of their toilet habits. This doesn’t bother me per se – as I said before, I can take or leave most dogs, even the mangy little yappers that my cat could eat in one bite – but it does irritate me that many dog owners expect everyone else to take the same ridiculously tolerant attitude towards Fifi’s bad behavior that they do. Canine-related offenses I have gotten way tired of:

1. Rhapsody In Brown. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: if your dog pinches a loaf, you must pick up said loaf and deposit it in a nearby trash receptacle. The law requires that you do so. “Oh, but I have a dachshund, and he makes such little tiny doodies.” Whatever. Pick it up. “Oh, but he went so near the curb, I figured it didn’t matter.” Whatever. Pick it up. “Oh, but I thought the rain would wash it away.” Whatever. Pick it up. “Oh, but nobody saw him, heh heh.” Whatever. Pick it up. My cat and I don’t come over to your house and leave little presents on your carpet, do we? No, we do not – but the next time I get dog crap in my lug-soles, we will. The sidewalk belongs to everyone. Pick. Up. The. Poops.

2. “Release the hounds!” Yes, yes, I know. Your darling little Poochykins would never hurt anyone. Your sweet little Fido just loves people. Nevertheless, Poochykins and Fido need to wear leashes. Furthermore, you should hold the ends of those leashes. Last week, while waiting for the elevator in the morning, I got bum-rushed by the two neurotic Westies down the hall that spend all day howling and scratching at their front door, and they had their leashes on but nobody at the ends of the leashes. I disentangled myself as their owner came out of her apartment, and the irritation must have showed on my face, because she snatched up the leads and said icily, “Well, excuse me.” Actually, no, I don’t think I will. If you want your dog to run free, you can visit one of the city’s dog runs, or you can move out to the suburbs, but if you don’t keep Huckleberry Hound on a leash, I reserve the right to punt him into traffic when he starts snapping at my ankles. And don’t give me any of that “hee hee – she must smell your cat” business, either.

3. No, you don’t get a receipt. Don’t adopt a dog you can’t take care of. Don’t live in a building that allows dogs? Don’t get a dog. Think a Dalmatian makes a suitable pet for your kindergartener? Think again. Can’t make time to walk her? Consider a kitten. When people adopt dogs and then can’t cope with them, the dogs wind up in the pound, learning bad habits and slowly becoming unadoptable. Please, please, for the dog’s sake, do your homework before bringing a collie mix home to your cramped one-bedroom. Dogs aren’t toys.

4. The 500-Meter Hurdle Event. Attaching your dog to an Extend-A- Leash the length of three football fields does not absolve you of responsibility. If you want to eat a pretzel in Battery Park while your dog sniffs at a hydrant on the Upper West Side, fine, but some of us would like to get from one place to another without the aid of a pogo stick, so reel those damn things in before I hire Carl Lewis as my trainer and send you the bill.

5. Calling off the dogs. Do yourself and your dog a favor and bring him to an accredited obedience school. I will grant you that my cat does not respond to commands, but my cat does not bark or snarl at strangers; nor does he shove his nose under the skirts of my guests, or jump up on people he doesn’t know, or lick people with his disgusting breath. If he did do these things instead of hiding under the bed, I wouldn’t stand there chuckling “he must really like you” instead of grabbing his collar. I can deal with barking, but I don’t like jumping and I don’t like growling, and I have seen too many terrified little kids get bowled over to find this endearing, so please teach your dog the meaning of the words “get down” and see that he obeys when he hears them. If this fails, lock up the dog when you have company. He’ll live.

6. Dogs named “Killer.” I’ve met personable Rottweilers before, and a nice pit bull or two, and I once knew a very sweet Doberman named Twinkle. That notwithstanding, if you own one of these “dangerous” breeds, buy a choke chain. The dog might not hurt a fly, but nobody else knows that, and after squeezing past a slavering Rottweiler tethered to a thin nylon lead a few nights ago, I wouldn’t mind seeing a muzzle either. The same goes for snappy Pomeranians.

7. Ah, love. When you look up from your lattÈ to see Happy Scrappy Hero Pup mounting another dog, for god’s sake, get your butt off that park bench and break it up. Even Marlon Perkins doesn’t need to see that.

The majority of dogs (and dog owners) behave themselves just fine. But, as with so many other things in life, a few obnoxious dogs (and dog owners) ruin it for everyone else. A few people don’t pick up after their pets. A few people grant their child’s wish for a Dalmatian, only to drop it off at the pound in two months when they realize the dog needs more attention than the kid. A few people, a bit late clueing in to the fact that a New York studio does not provide adequate acreage for a big dog, let their big dogs ramble around where they please. A few people buy dogs bred to kill and then act shocked when the dogs take off half a three-year-old’s face. That won’t work.

Yes, yes, I know. Astro thinks he’s a person. In the end, though, he isn’t a person, so put him on a leash, stock up on baggies, and tell him it would never work out between him and my leg.

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