When you think of a crazy cat lady, what comes to mind? An older
woman with curlers in her hair and eighteen cats in her house? A recluse who
never comes outside except to go to the store to buy more cat food? Someone who
lets their cats run their lives to the point that everything else is falling
apart? Yeah, that’s pretty much what I used to think, too, until I realized I AM a crazy cat lady.
Let me say right up front that I’m a contributing member of
society. I maintain dress and grooming standards, I hold down a job that has a
moderate amount of responsibility, I have a healthy relationship with a member
of the opposite sex, and we own a house that isn’t a glorified kitty litter
box. Despite all these things, I’m just a few cats away from becoming a
full-blown crazy cat lady.
It all started a couple of months ago when (as a compromise
to avoid getting a dog) we got an adorable little black kitten. We named her
Thud. I have always liked cats, even though they make me sneeze, so I
knew that I’d be fond of our new pet. I didn’t expect just how besotted I’d
become, and I really didn’t foresee how quickly I’d succumb to her fuzzy-faced
charms.
Only a few days after she joined us, I found myself putting
up with all sorts of things, just to avoid disturbing the cat. I was sleeping
on the edge of the bed so as not to push her around, I was getting up at the
crack of dawn on a Saturday to feed her, I was reorganizing several rooms in
the house in an effort to help the cat feel happy and secure in her new home. One
day as I was trolling cat pages on the internet – something I never did before we got Thud – I realized I’d taken a sudden turn into crazy cat lady territory.
Sure, I don’t have a whole passel of cats, I just have one. And
the cat hasn’t taken over the whole house. And I DEFINITELY wouldn’t put up
with a cat who can’t figure out the litter box. But these issues are all periphery.
If you think of crazy cat lady as being a state of mind, I am totally there; I
love the cat and talk in baby-talk to her, I take dozens of pictures of her and
show those pictures to long-suffering friends, I buy her the nice food because
she likes it and then eat ramen for dinner myself.
Honestly, it’s a little bit scary how quickly I went from
not even wanting a pet to being completely under the thumb (paw?) of a
diminutive seven-pound critter. It’s a good thing I do have that relationship with my
boyfriend I mentioned. He just might be the biggest factor keeping me from
getting four or ten more kittens and embracing my new-found identity.
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