Two days ago, I received a call from my wife that I just never expected to receive at the age of 27.Mark Gores

She asked me to pick up a pill organizer on my way home because the doctor had just prescribed Prednisone and Prozac. Why was I so taken aback by this? Well, when I was growing up and forecasting my life to be, not once did it involve owning a cat at age 27 (or ever), much less having to buy a pill organizer because said cat just got put on the same pill cocktail as most octogenarians.

My scripted life involved two golden retrievers waiting anxiously by my side for my command to run off and retrieve the dinner I had just shot down. But that dream started making less and less sense as I learned that I don’t really have a shooter’s eye when the only duck I was ever able to take down actually died of a heart attack from laughing so hard at my spastic shooting approach.

Nevertheless, somewhere along the line I met a girl, and somehow she convinced me to buy a cat. Five years later, I’m married to that girl and still adjusting to life as a cat owner.

I first agreed to let a cat live with me because I was stubborn. I thought cats acted the way they did because of the way their owners raised them. Cat owners in my mind wore Cosby sweaters every day and said things like “Would you like to pet my Boopy?” I was determined to make sure my cat could play fetch and shake and roll over on command. My cat was going to be the manliest of cats; that’s why I named her Guido.

Today, I am officially throwing in the towel. It has nearly been six years, and there is no way cats can ever be like dogs. I got close with Guido. She sort of plays fetch, but instead of a tennis ball it has to be a little rattle with cutesy feathers on it, and instead of bringing it back, she just sits on it. She is close to rolling over and shaking, too. She lies on her back all day, which is kind of like rolling over, and if you shake her paw, she’ll bite you. The only trick she can actually complete is “tip over unattended beverage glasses.” I don’t think that will earn us an appearance on Stupid Pet Tricks, however.

Emily had convinced me that one of the great things about cats is that they are so maintenance-free. You don’t need to walk them, and they clean themselves. Well, this dog lover learned that’s not 100-percent accurate. I recently had to pick up our little money pit from the vet. When I arrived, the vet told me that Guido was a little upset when they put her back in her cage, so she did what anyone would do after a rough doctor visit and messed all over herself.

So, we got home and I placed Guido in the bath tub and got the shampoo ready as anyone who grew up with dogs would do. I turned the water on and was immediately aware of my mistake. What started as a nice bath with our little Boopy quickly escalated to me standing in the shower in my skivees holding Guido up to the faucet a la Lion King with 10 cute little claws fully dug into my wrists and cat mess running down my arms. Needless to say, this was a far cry from shampooing a dog in the lake.

Why am I telling you this? Well, mostly because this is the most boring time of year for me and I’ve got nothing else on my mind, but also because I don’t want any other dog people out there getting tricked the way I did by someone they’re courting. You may think you can live with it for a little while, but what most dog lovers may not know is that cats apparently have the same life expectancy as sea turtles, and they make you say words like “cutesy” and “Boopy.”

 Mark Gores, a 27-year-old realtor, lives in Prior Lake with his wife, Emily. To comment on this column, call the editor at (952) 345-6378 or e-mail markgores@yahoo.com or editor@plamerican.com.