A few words in praise of qats:

They don’t consider expensive first edition books chew-toys

They don’t eat half-completed manuscripts

They don’t hound you for tidbits at dinner

They keep your lap warm on cold winter days

They have that look that says “I know, I know…”

They don’t need four walks a day.

They don’t bark like a paranoid psychotic at every passer-by

They amuse you at the oddest moments

They never fail to see the ghost in the room

They keep the house free of little black crawly things.

And a few against:

You find your favorite books covered with a smelly invisible residue

You find your expensive leather sofa is now a scratching post

You find your bathroom smells like a dumping ground for dead fish

You find your shoe contains an unpleasant ‘surprise’

You find yourself unexpectedly a qitten foster-father

You find every dust bunny is now a chase-toy

You find yourself almost getting used to hair-balls

You find them selecting your friends for you

You find your lady friend is allergic to them

You suspect your home has become a qathouse.