I’m angry at my editors. Not just for the usual reasons: They expect me to hand in my columns on time, they edit out all the swearing, they berate me for refusing to use the shift key. (Have you ever tried typing with paws? It’s really hard.) But none of those are why I’m angry. It’s about the Benjamins. It’s always about the Benjamins.
There’s a multitiered pay scale for writers at Catster. I’m on the bottom of the scale. There are ways to move up. People who do "reportage" get moved up the scale. "Expert reporting" gets moved up. It’s complicated and involves math, but trust me, there are writers here making more than I do. This annoys me for three reasons.
The first is obvious. I’m the most important writer on Catster, and yet these chuckleheads make more money than me. I understand that everyone thinks he or she is the most important person on Earth. But I’m right, and I can offer evidence. I live inside. Everyone else lives outside. As we’ve covered earlier, outside is bad, it’s loud and crowded, and it smells outside-y.
Also, I’m a candidate for president. By the time this article reaches print, I’ll probably be president. How many other Catster writers can say that? Also, they’re all humans. This site is lousy with human writers. I’m among the only felines on staff. Most cats can’t spell Catster if you spot them the "c" and the "ster."
The second reason this annoys me is that I hate being misjudged. What I do isn’t considered reporting, which is crazy. Look at all the work I do. I pose for photos. I look outside. I’ve gone out to the porch. I look over Daddy’s shoulder when he does research for class. I glance at the television when Mommy and Daddy watch the news. I scan reader comments on my column. If what I do isn’t reporting, then cleaning up where I poop isn’t an honor.
But the final reason concerns sheer human arrogance: A human can be considered an expert on cats, but I’m not? I walk on all fours. I have orange fur, a furry tail, whiskers, and a finely honed predator’s instinct. I know what it’s like to live in an animal shelter. I poop in a box. Despite all of these things, I’m not a cat expert.
If I’m not a cat expert, who else possibly could be? Seriously, most "experts" learn about cats from books or studying. I’m the only one who really understands what it is to be a cat. Maybe a book can tell you where my kidneys are or how I react to certain medications, but I’m the only writer at Catster who can tell you whether cats scatter kibble at dinner time for their homies who will never leave the shelter.
But I’m not an expert.
The other reason I’m annoyed is that last weekend my editors attended a conference for cat writers. I am not making that up. My editor left town for the Cat Writers’ Association conference. I’ve attended meetings with every editor at Catster. They’re humans. I might be the only cat writer in the world! I should be attending that conference. I should be giving the keynote address at that conference!
Except that I don’t want to go to that conference, because it’s outside … and I hate crowds … and traveling.