I have never and will never consider myself to be a cat person. I have the feeling my cat would never consider himself to be a person cat so I guess that makes us even in that regard.

My daughter really wanted a pet and, well, she bosses me around even though she is 5 years old so getting a cat was a foregone conclusion. I fancy myself more of a dog person but they are so dependent that it just wouldn’t fit my current lifestyle, so I was left to choose between getting a cat or risking the disapproval and tears of the prettiest blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl I’ve ever known. You can figure out how easy that decision was for me to make. We got a cat.

We decided to adopt one from a local rescue shelter that was advertising they were overflowing with cats in need of a good home, so we headed out to make our (actually, let me be honest – her) choice. Now, once again, I will go on record that I am not a cat fella but she did pick out a pretty cute cat given our options.

We sat down to fill out the adoption paperwork and they asked “Ok, what’s its name going to be?” Before I could open my mouth with an opinion, my daughter says “School Bus.” This is where I finally put my foot down and told her flatly, “We can’t have a cat named School Bus, that’s just not a good name for a cat.” Instead, I made the executive decision that his name would be “Giddyup-oom-poppa-oom-poppa-meow-meow.” In all fairness to me, I had just seen the Oak Ridge Boys in concert so their song Elvira was fresh on my mind. Granted, that isn’t much of an excuse but it is what I cling to.

Also, it gave me a cheap thrill to think that one day someone at the veterinarian’s office would have to call out for “Giddyup-oom-poppa-oom-poppa-meow-meow Simmons? Giddyup-oom-poppa-oom-poppa-meow-meow Simmons?”  Yes, in hindsight our cat would be named School Bus if I could live life all over again. Long story (and name) short, we nicknamed him G, although sometimes we call him G Man, G Star, and, more recently, Geepers.

Thus began my life with a cat named G.

I would describe our relationship as a marriage of inconvenience.

He is constantly under my feet no matter where I step and, too many times to count, he has made me dance like Mr. Bojangles to avoid stepping on him. He seems displeased with the general speed in which I refill his food and water bowls, so he feels the need to be right at my heels to prod me along.

I’d rather clean out my toilet, do dishes by hand, clean out my gutters, and hand scrub my floors than have to change his litter. For his part, he can’t wait to “christen” the new litter once it has been changed.

Every so often, we will lock eyes in a tense icy stare that would put you in the mind of Clint Eastwood versus Eli Wallach in “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.” You’d think we were about to draw on each other in a gunfight.

I look at him sometimes and think “you’re fat and lazy.” He looks at me sometimes and I can tell he is thinking “you’re fat and lazy.” Unfortunately, we are both right. It is actually what finally bonded us.

We have come to a silent agreement where he will lay on my lap and nap while I lean back in the recliner watching TV. It works out perfectly for both of us because he can sleep in peace and I have an excuse to not get out of my chair and do anything productive, I just think to myself “I better not move and bother the poor ol’ fella while he rests.”

I am not a cat person and he is not a person cat but we’ve managed to somehow make it work. Why, I think we are even role models for others for how to get past differences to make peace. In fact, I can even make it rhyme “Be like me and G.” Maybe, just maybe, if the Democrats and Republicans read this story then there will be hope in this world.