I’ve had both. My first pet was Miso, a shy gray tabby who loved warm laundry. My current shadow is Moose, a 60-pound rescue mutt with huge ears and a bigger heart. I know both sides. I still choose dogs. Here’s why. If you’re curious, I’ve also shared more detail about why dogs are better than cats over at Pet Care Services.
It’s not just me—research confirms that dogs are good for your health, boosting everything from cardiovascular fitness to overall happiness.
The welcome home test
When I come home, Moose bolts to the door like it’s a holiday. He does that goofy butt wiggle. He brings me his stuffed moose toy—yes, I named him Moose and yes, he owns a moose. My shoulders drop right there.
Miso would blink from the couch. If I had a rotisserie chicken? She’d stroll over. That was our deal. It was fine, but it wasn’t a greeting. It was a transaction.
Built-in cheer squad
I had a rough week last fall. Too many deadlines. Eyes sore. Brain fried. Moose sat on my feet while I typed, warm and heavy. He leaned in whenever I sighed. I swear he watched my face.
Miso comforted me too, but on her terms. She’d curl on my laptop, which was sweet until she sent a half-finished email to my boss. Cute? Yes. Helpful? Not really.
They get you outside (even in the rain)
I live in Portland, so rain happens. A lot. Moose does not care. Morning walk. Lunch walk. Evening loop by the food trucks. Because of him, I get sun on my face, even if it’s weak winter sun peeking through clouds. My Apple Watch rings close almost by accident.
My cat era was different. I stayed in. I scrolled. I told myself I’d stretch later. Later didn’t show up.
Also, side note: the rain jacket with the big hood? Game changer. I use a Ruffwear Front Range harness on Moose and keep a Kong in my pocket. He trots. I breathe. We both win.
Real-life help, small but real
- Moose barks when a package hits the porch. He saved my new coffee grinder from sitting in the rain.
- He “found” my keys twice—OK, he sniffed my tote and stared at it, but hey, it worked.
- He learned “leave it” with Zuke’s mini treats in one afternoon. That skill has saved many street tacos.
- He adores retreating into his pet cave bed; here’s what happened when he tried one.
Miso had her own tricks. She fetched hair ties and knocked pens under the fridge. Which is funny until you need that pen for a signed form at 8 a.m.
The smell and mess math
Let me be honest. Both shed. Both puke sometimes. I’ve met no perfect pet.
But litter boxes? Oof. I used a Litter-Robot and still battled that clay smell. I kept Nature’s Miracle on standby for surprise “Hey I missed” moments. Miso knew the box; she just… didn’t always want it.
Moose has his messes too. Muddy zoomies equal paw prints on the rug. I run a Bissell Pet Hair Eraser once a week and stash wipes by the door. It’s work, but it’s fast work. No gritty litter under my socks. Huge win.
Community magic (and random hot coffee)
Dogs help you meet people. True story: Moose made me three new friends at the park—Ms. Lopez with the corgi, Devon with the frisbee, and a neighbor who bakes on Sundays and now hands me banana bread. We stand around, talk about life, and toss a ball.
Those quick chats matter; staying socially connected is one of the habits that can literally help keep you young, as noted by experts at Johns Hopkins.
Speaking of meeting new people, dog owners in university towns sometimes discover that their four-legged friend is the perfect conversation starter; if you’re in central Pennsylvania, you can check out this guide to State College hookups for tips on where casual connections happen beyond the dog park, giving you a no-pressure way to expand your social circle while your pup sniffs around.
Cats build quiet bonds. You swap tips at the vet or at the pet store. But you don’t chat for twenty minutes on a sidewalk with a cat stroller. Well, not often.
Safety net, even when I’m not looking
One night the smoke alarm chirped low battery at 3 a.m. Moose woke me with a gentle whuff. Weird noise? He checks it. He also did the slow head tilt warning when I left the stove on low. That look has saved a few pans.
Miso’s warning system was different. She sprinted under the bed. Valid choice. Not helpful choice.
Travel, kids, and normal life
Moose loves the car. Windows down, ears flapping, nose working like a tiny vacuum. He hikes, camps, and naps under picnic tables. Last July, he carried his own water in a small pack and looked proud the whole trail.
Miso hated her carrier. We tried Feliway spray, soft blankets, gentle voices. Nope. She voiced her rage from driveway to vet. I don’t blame her. But it made any trip… tense.
Kids? Moose sits and lets tiny hands pet his snoot. He’s gentle. I watch like a hawk, always, but his default is soft. Miso was gentle too until a toddler squeal hit a high note. Then it was ears flat and retreat.
Cost and care: still a point for dogs (for me)
I’ve paid for both. Moose tore a dewclaw once—urgent vet, bandage, cone of shame. Miso got a UTI—antibiotics, extra litter checks. Money flies either way.
Here’s the thing: dog training is worth every dollar. We did a six-week class at the community center. He learned sit, down, stay, and how to ignore that one raccoon trash buffet. The skills stick. They make daily life smooth.
For a clear view of what those dollars might look like across food, vet visits, and gear, I like the breakdown charts at Pet Care Services.
With cats, you can train (clickers work!), but there’s less payoff in daily routine. The litter box and food schedule run the show either way.
Yes, cats are easier—kind of
Cats are low-maintenance. That’s the pitch. And sure, if you work long shifts, a cat can handle a quiet apartment. But even my “independent” cat needed play time, clean boxes, vet checks, and company. Lonely cat equals 3 a.m. zoomies plus hallway screams. Ask me how I know.
Dogs need walks, but help exists. On long office days, I book a mid-day walker through Rover. Moose naps after and snores like a tiny tractor. We all get home happier.
The small joys that tip the scale
I try to document these little slices of life on my phone, but candid shots are harder than they look. While poking around for inspiration, I discovered a community dedicated to what they call “snap amateur”—scrolling through their examples and step-by-step pointers on framing and timing instantly leveled up my own quick-draw pet photos.
- Cold mornings when Moose rests his chin on my knee like, “We okay?” and yes, we are.
- How he watches me whisk eggs as if I’m on a cooking show.
- When I dice eggplant for dinner, he sits politely at a distance—after I double-checked whether dogs can eat eggplant and learned a cautious yes.
- The way a Greenies chew buys me ten glorious minutes to fold laundry.
- Fall leaves on his back after a roll. He looks like a salad and doesn’t care.
Miso had moments too. Warm purr on my chest. Biscuits on a blanket. Sunbeam naps that made the whole room calm. I loved those moments. I did.
But daily life with a dog gives me more of them. More movement, more laughter, more “Hey neighbor,” more simple good.
My verdict
I’ve lived the cat life. I’m living the dog life now. For me, dogs are better because they join my day, not just my home. They pull me outside. They show me people. They guard the porch, fetch the toy, read the room, and then nudge my hand when I forget to breathe.
If you want quiet and you travel a lot, a cat can fit you. If you want a teammate who will meet you at the door and keep you honest about long walks and early bedtimes, get a dog.
You know what? Moose is staring at the leash—Ruffwear,