I love animals. I just don't want to have a pet. That's OK

Erin Foster, with honesty and humor, once confessed: “I love animals. I just don’t want to have a pet. That’s OK, right? I would take a dog over a cat, at least to interact with you. I feel like cats just stare you down all the time. Cats have, like, bad attitudes.” Though lighthearted in tone, her words carry a timeless truth: to love does not always mean to possess, and affection does not always demand ownership. Her reflection invites us to consider the differences in creatures, in temperaments, and in the human heart that seeks companionship in its own way.

The first truth in her words is that to cherish animals is not the same as to desire a pet. Many are moved by the beauty of wild creatures, by the loyalty of dogs, by the mystery of cats, and yet they know within themselves that they are not called to guardianship. This is wisdom, not coldness. For to take a creature into one’s home is to bind oneself to responsibility—to feeding, sheltering, tending, and loving for years. To recognize one’s limits and decline is far nobler than to accept and then fail. Thus Foster’s words remind us that love without possession is still love, and perhaps the purer for being honest.

The distinction she draws between the dog and the cat speaks also to the nature of relationships. The dog, eager, loyal, bounding toward the human with wagging tail, mirrors the companion who seeks constant communion. The cat, aloof, with narrowed eyes and watchful silence, mirrors the spirit that demands space, independence, even superiority. Neither is wrong; each is its nature. Yet Foster, like many, feels her heart stirred more by the openness of the dog than by the guardedness of the cat. In this preference lies a lesson: companionship must fit the spirit. What brings life to one person may bring discomfort to another.

The ancients, too, saw wisdom in choosing one’s companions with care. Diogenes, the Cynic, praised the dog for its honesty and loyalty, preferring its straightforward nature to the pretense of men. Egyptians, by contrast, revered the cat, seeing in it the mystery of divinity and the patience of eternity. Even gods were shaped in their image: Anubis as jackal, Bastet as feline. These cultural choices reveal that what Foster calls a “bad attitude” is, in another light, independence and sovereignty. The difference is not in the creature, but in the eye of the beholder.

History, too, gives us examples of this truth. The Roman legions marched with their loyal hounds, who guarded camp and fought alongside them. Their bond with dogs was one of trust and service. Yet across the Nile, the people of Egypt mourned their cats with deep reverence, shaving their eyebrows in grief when a feline companion died. Each civilization found in the nature of an animal the reflection of values they held dear. So too with Foster: she values the warmth of interaction, the playful loyalty of a dog, more than the silent judgment of a cat.

But the heart of her words is not a judgment upon species—it is the courage to claim one’s truth. She says, “I love animals. I just don’t want to have a pet.” This is the cry of self-knowledge. Too many accept duties they cannot bear, whether in pets, in people, or in life itself. But wisdom is found in boundaries, in knowing when to love from afar rather than bind oneself to what one cannot tend. Love need not always take the form of possession; sometimes, the greatest act of care is refusal.

The lesson is thus twofold: honor the nature of the creature, and honor the truth of your own heart. If you love dogs, let their loyalty inspire you. If you love cats, let their independence teach you. If you love animals but cannot keep a pet, do not cloak yourself in guilt—find other ways to serve, whether by kindness, by charity, or by reverence. For the bond between human and beast is not measured only in ownership, but in respect.

Practical action flows from this wisdom. Before you accept the gift of a pet, search your heart. Ask: Am I ready for this bond, this duty, this responsibility? If not, do not take it. Instead, volunteer at a shelter, support sanctuaries, or simply cherish the beauty of animals in the wild. If you do accept, choose the creature whose nature complements your own. In this way, love will not become burden, nor companionship a source of sorrow.

Thus Erin Foster’s playful words become enduring counsel: To love does not always mean to possess, and to prefer one creature over another is no sin, but a recognition of truth. Be honest, be thoughtful, and be reverent. In so doing, you will honor both the animals you cherish and the life you are called to live.