I was born to be a crazy cat lady. When I was a kid, I owned a cat sweater for every day of the week, and I checked out absolutely every book on cats the school library had to offer — multiple times.
Then I got older and realized that it freaks people out if you love cats too much. Then I got older still and realized I don’t care. Here are five reasons I’ve decided to embrace my destiny as a crazy cat lady.
For the most part, Facebook seems to enjoy pictures of my cats lounging in the sunlight, licking each other’s faces, and getting stoned on catnip. At the very least, my 400-some friends tolerate my intentionally hyperbolic assertions that these photos are "face melting" or "literally mind-blowing." I figure this is only fair. After all, I calmly appreciate pictures of everyone else’s children, which for me are on par with pictures taken from the back row at concerts — that is, they all kind of look the same.
But I have received some snarky comments in response to my cat-centric posts. A few people I used to consider real-life friends have even deleted me. At first I was distressed but the more I think about it, the more I realize that not everyone is going to like me — and that’s okay.
I used to self-consciously go over my clothes with a lint roller before leaving the house to ensure they bore no traces of my afternoon activities, which may have included any of the following: rolling around on the rug with a feather toy, encouraging imaginary biscuit making, sharing a granola bar with Bubba Lee Kinsey, or taking a nap with a blanket made of cats.
If, after arriving at my destination, I discovered I was still covered in cat hair, I would comment on it as though I was embarrassed: "Oh [expletive], look at all this hair!" But these days, I just keep an extra sweatshirt at the office. If I get there and realize my black knit top has been excessively calico’d — problem solved.
A couple of weeks ago, my boyfriend was over, and we were getting ready to go out. Before we left, I pulled a blanket over my cats, who were sleeping together on the couch. "Did you just tuck them in?" he teased. "What? Shut up," I said. But I totally just tucked them in, and I do it all the time.
I like to think that this type of love and attention is what makes them so amazing. Bubba Lee Kinsey and Phoenix are shiny, happy kitties. They have high-quality food, clean water, and all-natural kitty litter made from corn, and they are allowed on all of the furniture.
Hyperbole alert: They’re so awesome that meeting them will actually blow your mind. I am ridiculously proud of that fact.
In the winter, I get depressed. This year, I’ll probably be even more depressed than usual, as the sun will have barely risen when I get to work, and it’ll be pitch black by the time I leave. I will not see actual daylight for months. The good part: When I get depressed, I clean. And clean. And clean. It’s how I attempt to regain control.
This means my cats’ messes never become tiger-sized. Your first thought upon entering my home would not be, "Oh, the unbearable cat stink." It would probably be, "Why are there Halloween decorations in December?" (The answer: I keep them up all year.)
The Simpsons‘ Crazy Cat Lady is a cruel parody of the stereotypical cat-owning spinster, a woman who talks to herself and wears tattered robes with kitties stuffed in the pockets because her brain was long ago reduced to Swiss cheese by toxoplasmosis.
But the times they are a-changing. Celebri-kitties like Lil Bub and Colonel Meow are the queen and king of Facebook, and badass cat behaviorist Jackson Galaxy has made it cool to know why your cat keeps barfing on your bed. Saying that you are cuckoo for cats no longer implies that your maze of old newspapers and canned goods — I mean, your home — is covered in smatterings of kitty litter, tufts of fur, and cakes of vomit. It just means you appreciate the softer side of fanged, carnivorous predators. And really, who doesn’t?
Top Photo: Cat lady by Shutterstock.
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