Judging by the content of my local book store, an awful lot of people consider themselves either idiots or dummies. And instead of hiding their stupidity, they celebrate it by purchasing truckloads of books, labeled either "Idiot's Guide" or "For Dummies," which offer simplistic advice on problems ranging from pet care to computer programming.

Apparently, we can't turn on our electronic devices, need help managing money, and under no circumstances should seek to enter into a relationship without owning a detailed instruction manual. Even if we manage to muddle through these life problems, we still spend too much time "sweating the small stuff," and not enough ladling chicken soup on our souls.

A quick look around Barnes & Noble shows that many of us have become unable to complete even simple tasks unless we have a 300-page guide complete with diagrams. There are literally hundreds of books written to help combat our collective idiocy and give people the basic skills necessary to keep them from choking on their tongues.

My first experience actually owning an "Idiot's" guide came when my girlfriend, Celine, finally convinced me we needed a cat. Although I had never previously owned a pet more complicated than a goldfish, I was pretty confident that I'd figure out which part of the cat got pointed toward the food dish and which part went in the litter box. I was also more or less aware of the fact that cats dislike it when you pull their tails, poke them in the eye or leave them in a closet while you go away for a week.

Nonetheless, I decided to prepare for my impending feline procurement by reading "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Cats." This tome promised to teach me all the ins and outs of pet ownership including, I suppose, all of the ugly details about the ins and outs I could expect from my cat.

On the positive side, "Idiot's Guide" offered an exceptionally detailed, basic look at cat ownership, care and selection. On the other hand, the book actually assumed its reader was an idiot by imparting such wisdom as "cats don't really eat human babies," and "make sure you put out water for your new feline friend."

Having never bought one of these "Idiot's" guides before, I always assumed the titles were jokes designed to make people feel comfortable exploring an unfamiliar topic. But after reading one, it seems that the authors assume their readers must relearn basic skills, like breathing and walking, each time they have to apply them to a new area.

In many ways, I'm sure my cat (a lovable ball of fuzz named Calamity) appreciates that I did some reading in preparation for her arrival. Though she generally only appreciates food byproducts and tummy rubs, I'll assume it helped. But for the most part, I'm proud to say that even in areas where I'm a novice, I'm not an idiot.