Let’s talk about stray cats, shall we? The overlooked, underfed, streetwise philosophers of our crumbling society. Watertown, NY, is crawling with them—tail-twitching survivors of a world that’s gone to hell in a handbasket. And you know what? I’d rather throw my lot in with these furry little renegades than waste one more dime on the human parade of bad decisions and excuse-making we’ve politely labeled “the homeless.”
Yeah, I said it. The stray cats are the real victims of this lousy economy, not the guy on the corner with the cardboard sign and the freshly charged smartphone. These cats didn’t choose this life. They didn’t gamble away their nine lives at the casino down by Rome or drink themselves into fur-covered oblivion at the Hitching Post. They’re not out there begging for tuna while secretly hoarding Fancy Feast in a storage unit. No, these cats are out there hustling. Pure survival. They’re dodging cars on Arsenal Street, outsmarting raccoons by the tracks, and braving winters colder than the draft through an old Watertown apartment window.
And the kicker? They’re not asking for much. A bowl of kibble, a warm place to crash, maybe a little chin scratch if they trust you enough. You think a stray cat is going to whine because the kibble wasn’t organic? Nope. They’re grateful. Unlike certain humans who wouldn’t know gratitude if it bit them on their entitled behinds.
Let’s face it, folks: stray cats are the ultimate underdogs. Or undercats, I guess. They don’t have government programs, soup kitchens, or endless charities bending over backward to help them out. And yet they make it work. They don’t have a union. They don’t have lobbyists. But they’re out there every night, putting in the hours, keeping the rat population in check on the corner of State & High. What’s your average stray cat doing for society? Actual work, that’s what. Compare that to some people I’ve seen sleeping under a bridge who wouldn’t lift a finger unless it was to swipe left on Tinder.
And let’s not pretend we don’t know the score. A lot of those so-called “homeless” people don’t want help. They want handouts. And even when you do help them, half the time, they’ll screw it up anyway. “Here’s a job application.” “Nah, I’m good.” “Here’s a warm bed.” “Nah, the shelter has too many rules.” Meanwhile, stray cats don’t even get the offer. They’re just out there, clawing their way through life. You offer a stray cat help, and it’ll take it. You give it a second chance, and it’ll use it. When’s the last time a stray cat turned down a warm blanket because it wasn’t cashmere?
Now, I’m not saying we should let people freeze to death. I’m saying we’ve got priorities all wrong. We’re pouring resources into a bottomless pit of human excuses while ignoring the innocent victims of our neglect: the cats. These little guys didn’t screw up the economy. They didn’t send jobs overseas or gamble away their paychecks on scratch-offs. They’re victims of our greed and indifference, plain and simple.
So, here’s my proposal: let’s shift some of that compassion we’ve been misallocating. Let’s start a stray cat revolution. Trap, neuter, and release programs. Community feeding stations. Heck, let’s build them tiny cat houses and name them after failed politicians. “Welcome to the Mitt Romney Meow Manor!” Let’s give these cats a chance to thrive. Because unlike some people, they’ve earned it.
Stray cats are survivors, fighters, and dare I say, a little bit heroic. They’re not whining about their circumstances. They’re living with dignity, even when the world’s given them the short end of the stick. So, next time you’re thinking about who really deserves your help, ask yourself this: are you going to back the lazy, excuse-making human, or the scrappy, resourceful, rat-catching feline? I know where my vote’s going. Meow the revolution!
Donate to save Watertowns cats today at pawsforpatriotism.com
