A while back, a good friend of mine who had recently divorced was thinking of getting a pet. I think he wanted some company. He came over to our house for dinner and enjoyed being around our cats, so he asked my wife and me about them.
We told him that our cats are affectionate, easy to take care of and fun to be around. I told him that if he was really interested, he should go to a good shelter and check some cats out. Often you can just sense which one is for you.
He liked the idea and left that night thinking he might get a cat.
The next day, he spoke to a co-worker, a woman who warned him that he should not, under any circumstances, get a cat. She said that women didn’t want a man with a cat. He would never get a date, and even if he did, once that date came to his house and saw the cat, that would be it for him. Game over. She further stated that men with cats are looked upon by women as weak, feminine and submissive.
Subtext: He would never have sex again if he got a cat.
Is it a surprise that he got a dog? No. And as much as I didn’t like his co-worker’s ailurophobia, it turned out that science may support her claim. A man with a cat is apparently suspect in America. A 2020 study by Colorado State University revealed that women on dating apps, aged 18 to 24, were more likely to reject a man posing with a cat in his profile photo.
“Men holding cats,” the study said, “were viewed as less masculine; more neurotic, agreeable and open; and less datable.” (I’m not sure why “agreeable” and “open” are perceived as negative traits.)
In the study, if men had a profile photograph without a cat, they attracted 38 percent of the women for a potential date or possibly even an actual relationship. Yet when women saw a picture of the same man holding a cat, the percentages dropped, with a sizable number saying they absolutely would not date a man who had a cat.
After I saw the stats, I felt grateful that when my wife and I met, I had not yet identified as a “cat person” — perhaps the only logical explanation why she married me. Otherwise, science assumes I’d be a forlorn cat bachelor, wads of fur on my sweater vest, living in a basement apartment filled with kitty condos, yarn toys and my only real friends: Snowball, Mr. Waffles and Samson J. Fluffinuffigus. Which may be closer to the truth than I care to admit.
The scientists determined that women in the study were falling back on old cultural norms. Since cats are traditionally considered to be a feminine pet, men who have cats are perceived as more feminine, less masculine and possibly gay.
I find that last one particularly interesting because a friend of mine who is gay has told me that he is regularly stopped by women in his neighborhood who want to pet his dog. This invariably leads to my friend telling them his doggy origin story. How he found the poor little guy roaming the streets with no ID tag or microchip. After he made sure no one had reported the dog missing, he adopted him. My friend named the pup “Valentino” because they found each other on Valentine’s Day.
It’s a sweet story, a sort of dog-human “meet cute,” except for the animal abandonment part. After telling his story, my friend found that women were basically swiping right on him in person on the street.
“There have been times when I haven’t been able to get away,” he said. “It’s like they want something from me that I can’t give. I can’t tell you how many times I probably could have had sex because of my dog.”
It’s clear that one must take seriously the science of dog ownership as aphrodisiac.
Since I am rather vocal about my love of cats, many people assume that I must not like dogs, which is not true. If I’m walking and see someone coming toward me with a dog, I’m always going to look at the dog first and smile and say hi, usually neglecting to acknowledge the human holding the leash. This might make me a misanthrope but not a dog hater.
My wife and I have even discussed getting a dog, but I can’t take the socializing involved. Especially in my neighborhood, where most of the dogs eerily get walked at the exact same time. Sometimes it’s 7:45 p.m. and everyone is out walking their dog, as if an inaudible dog-person whistle has summoned them.
Of course, if someone is walking their dog and they run into another person with a dog, well, they have to stop and let the dogs sniff each other. While that’s happening, everyone talks about their dogs. Even people without dogs stop dog owners to ask, “What breed is she?” “Do you go to the dog park?” “That doggy hoodie is so cute! Is it Anthropologie?” Though it’s a great way to meet people, it’s a lot if you’re not crazy about small talk.
I am deliriously happy that I do not have to walk my cats. Even happier that there is no feline equivalent of dog parks. Why? Because I’m not a pack animal. You may be thinking, “Yeah, he sounds like a cat — antisocial, moody, standoffish.” Which is basically right. I’m a “leave me alone” kind of creature, which is probably why I’m a writer with cats.
Another problem with dogs is that they are constantly getting into altercations. As a conflict-adverse individual, I don’t want to have to pull my down-vested Dachshund away from your snappish Frenchie in a Breton sweater, much less a snarling leather-clad Bull Mastiff.
At the dog park, as in life, you never know who the bullies are until it’s too late. Sooner or later, another dog is going to have beef with your dog. Suddenly, you will find yourself in the middle of a doggy rumble, a teeth-showing, leash-tightening, canine throw down. And some owners are going to be jerks who don’t care if their dog is bullying your dog. (I’m not going to call this behavior “masculine,” but feel free to come to your own conclusions.)
Now you have beef with a human. There could be yelling, fisticuffs, even gunplay. (Think I’m exaggerating? Google it. I won’t even get into the equally disturbing trend of owners being shot by their dogs. Again, look it up.)
None of this ever happens with cats. No dog park altercations. No bully breeds. No insipid street-side confabs. Just me and my wife at home, reading on the couch, chilling with Junebug, Cheeto and Birdie. Maybe there’s a little hissing now and then, along with the errant fur ball, but that’s about it.
At a coffeehouse near where I live, I used to see a man who would sit at a table on the sidewalk with a pair of adorable puppies. I saw him frequently when I went there to write. Every time he showed up with the two puppies, women would swarm to his table. I would often see phone numbers being exchanged.
This man obviously understood “the science.”
He got so good at pimping his pups, he was out at that table every day. Until one day, he got so engrossed in conversation with a woman that he didn’t notice when one of the puppies got loose and wandered out toward the busy street.
Inside, I jumped up from my seat, but luckily someone outside had also been watching. She ran and pulled the puppy out of the street before anything happened. The woman he had been talking to was not pleased. No phone numbers that day for Dogman.
As it turns out, my friend who was advised to not get a cat has been a dog owner now for many years. Two years after getting a dog, he got a relationship. He remarried and has a wonderful wife and son, so maybe he owes all that to following the science. He loves his dog, but, like me, is a writer and a loner. After a while, he’d had his fill of being stopped on the street by strangers to chat about or pet his dog. He now clamps in his earbuds, blasts Foo Fighters and avoids eye contact to prevent needless human-canine interaction.
Even with all that, people still stop him on the street. If someone approaches and asks if they can pet his dog, he says, “He bites.”
Michael Zadoorian is a writer in the Detroit area. His new book, “Beat Girl: A Novel of Edie Kerouac,” will be published in March 2027.
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