Crazy Cat Lady

I have always loved animals: cats, dogs, birds, fish, etc. This particular story all began when I received a Christmas card from my husband's "Granny" about ten years ago, addressed to "The Cat Lady." It took me by surprise considering I only had one cat at the time.

Since then, I have received a variety of cat-themed gifts: cat mugs, cat drink coasters, cat t-shirts, cat figurines, cat books, plush cats. All these presents were from various people in my life, but all pointed to a conclusion that I was not so convinced I agreed with - that I'm crazy about cats. And I was obviously not aware of the cat-loving vibe I was apparently emitting. I mean, sure, I love my cat, Gracie. She is sweet and, up until a few weeks ago, was fairly low maintenance and didn't cost me much in the way of vet bills. Gracie is a great pet, but it's not like I'll ever commission a portrait of her and hang it over my mantle, or bring her to a professional taxidermist once she's passed on in order to preserve her in some kind of life-like playful manner, lying on her back playing with a ball of yarn next to my living room sofa, or something...that's all just a little too creepy.

However, for some reason or another, people just assume I have this great affinity for cats. Just think, me, the Crazy Cat Lady, a moniker I've been running from for the last decade. Really...when I picture a "Crazy Cat Lady"....the image that comes to mind is not one of a fairly attractive, fit, thirty-year-old with a family. It's more like a lonely, old, senile woman with a yard full of empty aluminum cans and a house full of cat feces. (I apologize if I've offended any of my readers.)

About a month ago, I noticed a mother cat and two kittens scavenging through one of our trash bins on our driveway. Thinking, "wow, this is a great opportunity to get rid of all that organic canned cat food I over-zealously bought in bulk and to which my cat promptly turned her nose up at" (not exactly thinking the whole situation through very well), I broke open a few cans and placed them on my front walk. To be honest, this is not exactly the first time a litter of cats have found themselves begging for food in my front yard. It's happened a few other times...I don't know why it's always me and not my neighbors...it's like my house has some kind of stray cat magnet or something.

Jump ahead to the present and add a few more kittens, turns out there were four, and they are all still here, snuggled up on this cold late autumn night beneath the holly tree in our front flower bed. In the background you can catch a glimpse of the light from our front window reflecting off the many empty aluminum cat food cans from which the distinct aroma of rotting tuna and mackerel feast emanates. That, together with the plastic water dishes, cardboard box with an old flannel blanket and a scattering of little foil balls, all begin to paint a scary picture of that very image I've been trying to avoid. Am I really turning into the Crazy Cat Lady? I am neither old, nor lonely, nor senile (except I do catch myself talking to these little critters as if I half expect them to answer me, "why, yes, we would like it if you brought us some more tuna and mackerel feast, please. And, could we trouble you for some more fresh water?") You betcha, coming right up!

How did I end up like this? For God's sake, I practically have a feral cat colony at my front doorstep...actually, scratch "practically," I do have a feral cat colony at my front doorstep! It's like this transformation was inevitable...reminiscent of a Marvel Comic super heroine with a fear of embracing her true self! Except, I'm Crazy Cat Lady, bringing justice and sustenance to the malnourished of the feline kind! I wear a frumpy sweatsuit, instead of a skin-tight, leather bodysuit. And, instead of ripping open my blouse to reveal a "S" emblem on my superhero uniform, I just lift up my sweatpants to reveal the embroidered cat face stitched to the ankle of my thick woolen socks (another gift, I might add.)

Luckily for me, my stint as the Crazy Cat Lady may soon be drawing to a close. I say "luckily" because these cats are beginning to eat me out of house and home. Thank God for a few kind handouts from my neighbors, yet these cats have already polished off the rest of our Thanksgiving turkey, some Boars Head lunch meat I tried to justify was already passed its prime (it was only four days old), and some leftover ground pork I found in my freezer, defrosted, and fried-up in some olive oil in a skillet. I refuse to tap into my cat's food stash, because it feels a little too much like dipping into my daughter's piggy bank.

A true "Cat Lady" is supposed to be coming to my house to trap the kittens and bring them to my vet to get cleaned up, immunized, and put up for adoption. How did I finally find this woman, you ask? Why I just projected my industrial-sized spotlight affixed with a cat emblem toward the sky, and my phone rang within two minutes. Who knew, right? Kidding aside, the kittens will be off to better lives soon. And me, I'll be at it again trying to shake off this unwanted identity, of which I've now made it even more impossible to rid myself.