Woman, I'm a cat-MAN.

Today, I was comparing martial artists, to cats. We're very much alike. For all of you women out there who date/marry us, this is your comprehensi-... completely half-assed guide to dealing with your new pet.

Because we're nothing more than pets really.

First of all, think about how cats act. Most of them are sort of metro in a "don't care about fashion, or appearing manly, in fact we'll wear the damn sweater if you'll make dinner." They don't seem to care for loud animals, preferring to be quiet and probably laying comfortably on something soft. So, I guess we'll start the comparisons now:

Most martial artists don't try to be "butch," while some guys who take a martial art can be, most who qualify for "martial artist" are truly against the strutting that other men do. Sort of like the previous observation of cats.

Most martial artists tend to find mates that are, well in a word "tough." We're not content with women/men who are whiney, inept, or basically incapable of surviving the zombie apocalypse. No, we want people who are in someway our equal, or at best, our better.

You may ask yourself "Tom, you tall drink of water for the unquenchable thirst, this doesn't sound like my cat..." Well, you're wrong there, because that mate, is You. The evidence: we, as martial artist/cats, tend to make our mates/owners put up with all the random toys we own. Which no matter how we care for them, will be left on the floor or somewhere you -will- step on it or knock over. We tend to occasionally be inherently messy, and forgetful with hiding away our toys.

We bat things around. Punching bags, speed bags, jut boards, fighting dummies, focus mits, kick shields, or everyones favorite, small children. We knock these things about with a mix of power and gentile violence, all at once trying to cause the most harm, yet not break it. Imagine your cats' play place, little dangling things hang down that it uses as part exercise machine, part combat training device, part hilarious pastime.

We're mildly sadistic. For many martial artists, a small change happens when it takes root in your soul; you start enjoying hurting others. Not in a sexual way (well maybe, not judging you), or a crimi(ok, I lied, I'm judging the Hell out of you)nal way, but in that little prickish way that cats do. Bat that little mouse around, or how about waiting till you're not looking... then BAM! right in the back of the head as you pass the stairs. Nothing painful, just letting you know we -could- have torn you in two. Like when a cat uses the claws... just a little.

Who could forget their first time hearing the words "here, throw a punch at me, no it doesn't matter where..." as they were immediately shown a new, excruciating move, that leaves the martial artist going "now if I do this, your arm comes off..."

Or that eyebrow raise when someone pretends to throw a few mock punches, the obvious come-on of "try it... it'll be funny..." akin to the cat tail twitch?

We're damn cute, and it's damn lucky we're cute. Because when you get home, and we're COMPLETELY IGNORING THE MASSIVE DENTS AND SWORD SLASHES IN THE CEILING, it's lucky for us that we look good topless... and that we're so damn adorable when we're wild eyed and looking for violence.

We could be outside, fighting off the Mongolian horde, but once the smell of dinner is in the air, we're suddenly in the kitchen, getting completely in the way as we try to see what's up.

You basically get us, show us off to your friends, indulge in our inane ways, spend cuddly time with us, put up with our loud, obnoxious friends, and buy us expensive equipment/scratching posts so we don't damage the furniture.

Let's face it, the only reason you pick us over cats; we can open jars.