You recognize me when you see me. I know you do. You try to look me in the eye as you talk to me, but your eyes can’t help but drift down. Oh, I’m not so vain as to think your eyes are attracted to my not very significant breasts. No, your eyes are drawn to the not hard to miss little short hairs, gray and white, sticking out from my clothing in haphazard fashion. Sticky rollers are of no use as these little hairs seem to clone themselves. I ooh and ahh over big eyed pictures and incessantly post said pics on Facebook. I am the crazy cat lady.
I am not alone. I know I am not alone. Oh God, please say I’m not alone. . . . No, I am not alone.
We, the crazy cat ladies of the world, are often made fun of. Smirks and snickers behind our backs, well, and right to our faces to be quite honest. We are looked on with pity. WE are considered the sad and pathetic ones. But we just smile and look at you with pity because you don’t know. You don’t know what it is to love a kitty.
We are stereotyped: Our houses are supposedly stinky, dirty, and disgusting; we are lonely; we are antisocial; we are old maids and will die alone. We have 6, 8, 10, even 20 cats – and they will inevitably eat us when we die. WE. ARE. CRAZY. Or so they say.
We love our kitties like they are our children. We spoil them and snuggle them and love them. WE are happy. We are sad when they are sick and we fervently hope they will outlive us because we don’t want to live without them. We often have random cat hairs in our bed, on our clothes, in our hair, in our mouth, up our nose, but we don’t care, we’re used to it. We adjust our bodies to make sure the cat is comfortable. We twist and contort to maneuver our way out from under a sleeping cat so as not to disturb him.
People laugh at us. People mock us. People wonder why we don’t just “toss the cat off the lap.” We let them lay on our work and on our computers and on our books, and, well, on anything they want for we must not disturb the kitty cat.
We are not alone in our craziness for we often love crazy cats. They run, no sprint, through the house hopping from this to that, knocking over nick knacks, but rarely valuables as we have already rearranged the house a half a dozen times to make it “cat compatible”. Cat toys? Why waste the money? They play with . . . anything and everything. And they love boxes – cat traps.
Are we pathetic? Perhaps, in your eyes. Are we lonely? HELL NO! We love our cats and, despite all of your beliefs and snarky remarks, they love us. Are we crazy? Maybe a little. But, are we happy? Yes, yes we are. We love our kitties as genuinely and sincerely as you love any in your life. Do not doubt our love. Call us crazy for it. Choose not to understand us. But don’t doubt us.
This is dedicated to all the crazy cat ladies out there – all of you who know exactly what I am talking about (for I know I am not alone). I am chief among you, craziest of the crazy cat lady because I can not even abide by the simple stereotypes of crazy cat ladies (6, 8, 10, 20 cats). See, I am a monogamous crazy cat lady. I am a jealous crazy cat lady. I only love one kitty, my precious, crazy Fitzwilliam. Fitzwilliam who rushes to greet me at the door every evening when I return home, and holds my hand (yes, he really does), and nuzzles his wet nose into my hand, and snuggles his little warm body as close to me as he can get. He is God’s great big gift to me in an itty-bitty body. My little furry prince charming. My green eyed monster (literally and figuratively). My damn cat who I love with all my heart and who makes my life a whole lot better and whole lot happier simply because he is in it. Am I crazy? Hehe . . . .