The Dreaded Question

The Swedish man knew me as a dog lover  
though I happily took over the job of feeding the stray kitties  
gathered by his country house door every evening  
 
But yeah,  
dogs.  
 
I loved my beagle, Brandy Joy  
and Swedish man's Rottweiler, Daisy  
and his friends' dogs  
and my friends' dogs  
and strangers' dogs  
and dogs on TV  
and the dog I met once  
who had a perfect German shepherd head
on a corgi body.  
 
The only dog I can think of,  
that I couldn't quite bring myself to love,  
was a friend's yip yap dog  
a six-pound monster  
that was basically  
a piece of lint  
with fangs.  
 
Fourteen years ago  
I adopted my cat.  
 
Now I mostly talk about cats.  
And to cats.  
And devise plans   
to eradicate all feline suffering.  
 
No cat left behind.  
 
So I suppose it was fair  
that the Swedish man asked the dreaded question:  
 
Do you now like cats more than dogs?  
 
Don't ask me which I'd rather lose  
my hearing or my sight  
because in my alternate universe of neurosis,  
answering means the other sense must be sacrified  
and as a photography enthusiast who loves music  
I don't want to lose either!  
 
So don't ask me  
which I love more  
dogs or cats  
because I'll be held to that decision for life  
and heretofore unknown consequences surely exist  
involving helpless animals  
who I turned my back on by admitting I loved the other species more  
 
I love my left hand  
as much as my right  
No, actually, I love my right m...  
Shut up, brain.  
 
Look, just don't ask me to choose.  
 
Okay ...?