My father despises cats. He believes them to be Democrats. He considers them to be little mean Hillary Clinton covered all over with feminist leg fur. Cats would have abortions, if given half a chance. Cats would have abortions for fun. Consequently, our own soft sinner, a soulful snowshoe named Alice, will stay shut in the bedroom upstairs, padding back and forth on cashmere paws, campaigning for equal pay, educating me about my reproductive system, and generally plotting the downfall of all men.

Priestdaddy: A Memoir