Who You Calling Cat Lady?



Cat on Top of the Fridge



A friend is downsizing from a home to an apartment, and her family members, workout buddies, writer pals, neighbors, and other longtime amigos/amigas flocked to help. As each person introduced him/herself, the rest of us scoured our memory banks for the connection—the work, church, travel tie, identifying anecdote, whatever.

When I introduced myself to my friend's youngest sister, she said. "Oh, the Cat Lady."

Ack! The ground never opens and swallows us when we most want to disappear.

Cat hair clings to my clothes despite multiple passes with a lint roller, but I don't talk baby talk to my pets. I don't make kissy-poo noises at them.  I don't serve them kibble in cut-crystal bowls. I am not eccentric.

Am I?

It's just as well the ground didn't open and swallow me because who would have fed the five cats at my house?

Five cats?

Don't cough up a hairball. Two are on loan—my downsizing friend's pets are staying with me until her move's complete.  (Readers of this blog may remember I had only two cats until a bully creature beat up the stray I was feeding. The stray's now a member of the household because nothing says "You're mine" like a vet bill.) Hey, I get that a woman sheltering five tabbies brings the Cat Lady moniker upon herself.

If it were only my burden to bear, I'd cope, but now Hubs is involved. Last night, I overheard him scold a cat in the friendly-but-firm Mr. Rogers voice he used to use with our kids when they were toddlers. Hubs went on to explain the importance of sharing. The cat stalked away. Teenagers!

What have I done?

I just wanted to help out a friend. Sure, the week-long playdate for my cats was a collateral benefit. (Doesn't everbody think in terms of a playdates for pets?) Now I've turned into a walking, talking, treat-distributing cliché. What's next? In the supermarket, will I hand-pick cans of Little Friskies with the care I normally lavish on Texas peaches?

At Fear No Weebles, Madame Weebles (That's the name of a human blogger, NOT a cat. Sheesh, I've read blogs about cats, but I know they can't write.) wrote a post that delineates the differences between Catwoman and Cat Lady. I'd stick around while you read it, but I have to five mouths to feed.

Now where is my snookums? Yoo hoo, sweetie, darling boy, dear one, lovey.