I never set out to be an owner of cats -- I was unwittingly launched head first into a combustable cocktail of feline sneezes, upchucked hairballs and hissy fits when a now ex-friend gifted me with a small orange and white tabby kitten. This was over 15 years ago and it occurred completely out of the blue. There were no secret hints dropped or cut out magazine pictures of kute katz plastered all over my wall. Granted, I was always a huge animal lover and often made a point of stopping by the local pet store just to ogle, but I always told myself that I'd cross that bridge when I was good and ready...maybe when I had real human children of my own. So, when I was unexpectedly given this squeaky meowing thing bearing razor sharp nails and somewhat poor bladder control, all sorts of crummy thoughts were summoned within my very immature mind, such as: "What the flippity-flip!? This thing is alive! Now I've got to take on some extra shifts just to feed it! Litter? I have to scoop a litter box?? This cat isn't even that cute!!"

I didn't know the first thing about being a parent of any entirely dependent creature, but I had to learn fast because this rather homely at the time but nonetheless soft and warm Dr. Jeckyll-Mr. Hyde terror, who I dubbed "Snagglepuss," would soon become the eldest of four felines to prowl through my halls. He acquired siblings (also unexpectedly) when I made the mistake of strolling downtown on a sunny afternoon with a friend who locked eyes on a tangled pile of snoozing kittens. They were cleverly being pimped out by a humane society-like satellite store, and it didn't take much for my friend to convince me that Snaggle needed a sibling to keep him company and help mellow him out. She was right (since he had grown into a punk-a** holy terror), so after scrutinizing the pile of mini felines, I fell in love with Cyrano...who happened to be spooning Artemis, and one became three. That arrangement worked out pretty well and then once I moved across the country with all of them in tow, I added one final adoptee to the bunch.

Each one of them -- personality quirks, medicinal requirements, special diets and all -- are deeply entrenched in my life and my heart. I'd never ever consider giving any of them up, and yet recently, someone questioned how I could claim to be an authentic greenie considering the fact that I'm a pet owner...or specifically a cat sympathizer. If eyebrows could have formed exclamation points followed by daggers, mine surely did. I calmed myself down, asked them to elaborate and I'll paraphrase some of the choice comments that followed. "Taking care of so many cats places a huge burden on our environment...It's an entirely selfish act...They're here for the sole pleasure of human beings and yet they provide no real value to the world. All they do is deplete our natural resources. Think about all of the fish that are being killed so that we can feed cats. They are negatively impacting marine ecosystems by taking food out of the mouths of the largest fish in the world. People are even starving so that cats can be fed." This apparent feline hater then went on about the cat litter issue (which, by the way, I plead guilty to) and the fact that the pet supply industry probably churns out as many greenhouse gases as others. I stopped them before they launched into a tirade about the horrendous consequences of housing pet parakeets and chinchillas.

That whole exchange actually made me start wondering if my environmental commitment was really just a withering shade of brown due to the four feline mouths that I willingly feed. (For the record, my cats seem to prefer poultry and other land dwelling protein sources, so that alleviates my guilt somewhat.) When I honestly take stock of the basic supplies required to keep them healthy and happy, it seems as though the hugest eco-offender in their arsenal is their scoopable cat litter. I realize that it's nothing to sneeze at, and sure, there are earth friendly alternatives on the market, but I apparently have the only cats on the planet who refuse to take a walk on the wild side. Aside from that and their poultry-based meals sold in dutifully recycled steel cans, I'm at a loss to identify what measurable burden they really place on the grid. When I compare cats to dogs, I suppose that the cat litter factor makes them infinitely less green than the Fidos of the world who relieve themselves out in the great wild yonder. Even though it can be argued that dogs have the capacity to consume wayyyyy more animal based protein than cats, where do humans fit in the entire formula? Who's really tapping Mother Nature dry, our pets or us? Maybe my critic was right about "people like me" being selfish...okay, guilty as charged. I'll continue repurposing bottlecaps, recycling rubber bands and walking 3 miles roundtrip whenever I need to stock up on groceries, but leave my cats out of it. I'm 99.9987% certain that they didn't get us into this mess and I can think of far more worthy scapegoats...er scapecats.