Pledge now.

I'm recovering from a cold that could rightfully inspire a telethon. Or perhaps a charity walk. If I could just breathe through my nose I would be collecting pledge forms and selling white wristbands -- white like the Kleenex I've been clutching for five days.

Today somebody suggested that it's unfortunate I'm by myself. Wouldn't it be nice if I at least had a cat I could come home to?

Sweet Jesus on a cracker. How would a cat make me feel better??

I've never been a cat person, but I know cat people. One friend wears cat jewellery, cat t-shirts, sets her life by a calendar with photographs of cats in action (and by action read: sleeping, sitting or staring) and she forwards me emails with pictures of kittens and cutesy sayings.

I'm not sure why she feels I would want to open an attachment containing a litter of kittens strapped to tiny plastic musical instruments over top the heading, "We Be Jammin," but there you have it.

Nobody has ever heard of a seeing-eye cat, bomb-sniffing cat, search and rescue cat or even arson-detecting cats. I know cats are useless, and I also know they're capable of evil.

I lived with a boyfriend who had two cats, and now I have a new deal-breaker. I developed a tenuous friendship with one cat, as we both lived in fear and horror at the tub of feline lard that was my boyfriends shadow.

Neither cat knew it's own name, so I won't bother with their names now. I will say that my boyfriends cat hated me with every ounce of it's being. And it weighed a significant amount. Luckily, the feeling was mutual.

It would hiss and spit. It would bite my head if I was foolish enough to rest it on my boyfriends shoulder while watching TV. It seemed to sense my disgust at the softly wet chewing noises it would make as it licked at it's crotch for the umpteenth time. And so it would lick it's crotch for the entire duration of whatever TV show I was watching -- even the hour-long dramas.

It was able to situate itself on the sub-woofer just below the television, so should I be able to drown the noises coming from the cat I could always see it's head bobbing, one paw delicately raised in the air.

If I thought I could avoid the cat, it would piss on my belongings. Purses, shoes, boots, sweaters, yoga pants and mysteriously, one make-up compact all lost to toxic cat-piss.

When I left my boyfriend and moved to another province, I claimed it was because I wanted to be closer to the ocean, closer to my family and friends and better situated to start my MBA. All true, but there was one more reason. I just wanted to get away from his goddamn cats.

And now I'm grateful I can wheeze and hack in peace and privacy. I need more Advil. Come on people - let's get those pledge forms coming!