My rather skewed view of life in general, and cats in particular.
The Ravings of a Crazy Cat Lady
The other day, my husband came home from work and proudly presented me with a package. It was gift-wrapped in typical Mike fashion, meaning that it was in the brown paper bag from the store of purchase with the price tag still inside. When I was younger, this seeming lack of care on his part used to upset me. Now I know it’s Mikespeak for "I love you".
Anyway, the package. I opened the Mikewrap and pulled out the plastic-encased figure of a frumpy woman in a tatty robe and slippers. From the pocket of the robe a kitten was peeking. Around her neck, almost hidden by her unkempt hair, rested another kitten. Also included with this action figure were six more cat figurines.
The package read "Crazy Cat Lady Action Figure". My husband thought it was the height of hilarity. After some moments of ineffectual spluttering, even I had to admit it was pretty funny. I guess to most people, even the person I live with, I AM a crazy cat lady.
They just don’t get it. I can’t assign any blame for this failure of perception on their part, because generally I don’t get it either. I certainly don’t feel like a crazy cat lady. I feel like the same old me I’ve been all my life. No insanity here, no retreat from reality, no firing of my shotgun over the heads of neighborhood children, I just happen to like cats.
Sometimes people - and by ‘people’ I mean those heathen non-cat-people that for one reason or another I am forced to interact with fairly frequently - ask me just what the attraction is, why cats of all things. When faced with such a query, I find my usual loquacious self completely stymied and at a total loss for words. How does one explain something so completely obvious?
I’ve tried to approach my obsession for felines from a logical perspective. "They are beautiful animals." "They are very smart." "They are low maintenance, especially when compared to dogs." "They are personable, affectionate, entertaining, etcetera." "They are excellent pets."
What annoys me is having to justify my feline family, often to perfect strangers. People seem to feel that it is perfectly fine to question my judgement, my housekeeping skills, even my grasp upon reality, all based upon the number of cats I own.
When conversing with a stranger who confides that they have 7 or 8 children, it would be the height of rudeness to ask the question that automatically pops into one’s head at this information. "Um, why?" It would be even ruder to say, "Hey, they know what causes that nowadays." And it would be the pinnacle of tacky to suggest they decrease the size of their family by dropping a few of the kids off at Family Services to let strangers adopt them.
Why, then, is it all right for people to make the same suggestions to a stranger who mentions that they have 7 or 8 cats at home? Do these well-meaning but incredibly offensive strangers think that perhaps I have no emotional attachment to my feline family? Or is it that they figure that a person who chooses to care for nonhuman creatures must be - God forbid - one of those Crazy Cat Ladies, and it is therefore perfectly all right to offer unsolicited advice about their lifestyle?
Of late, I have come to realize that the opinions of rude people mean very little to me. As soon as I hear advice from some know-it-all who knows absolutely nothing about me or my life choices, I know that I am in the presence of somebody with very little redeeming social value. Why would anybody care about the opinions or take guidance from somebody who thinks that cats, one of the loveliest of God’s creatures, are disposable commodities?
Oh quit your staring. I promise you, I don't even own a chainsaw, nor do I have the slightest desire to introduce it into this discussion. The simple fact - which really speaks quite well for itself - is that cats are marvelous, miraculous creatures, worthy at the very least of our respect, even our reverence. I love all cats in the abstract, and I love my own cats on a more personal basis. From my petite and dainty Precious, who scales great heights without the benefit of vision, to my sweet and affectionate Roland, who I whisked off of a cold shelter table and into my pocket as he was about to be euthanized, they are each in their own fashion a source of comfort and delight to me. There are few things better after a hard day than sitting down in my cat room and being overwhelmed by the warm purring affection of my lovely cats.
Pity me for being a crazy cat lady? I pity anybody who isn’t!