You know…I never, ever wanted nor intended to be the cliched, weird “cat lady” on my street- or on any street for that matter. Bad enough that I didn’t get my original little black kitty fixed soon enough, and she jumped out the window the first night I lived in this house, showing up a week later pregnant, with a giant abscess on her hind end. Even worse, I didn’t get rid of her two kittens fast enough (both pure black, like their mama) and now they are my babies- so, for anyone keeping count, I now have three black cats, and a giant, goofy black Labrador Retriever named Lucy, for good measure. The baby cats, who aren’t babies anymore at all, are named Rose and Frankenstein, respectively.
But now it looks like I might have accidentally picked up another cat. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but I do know it’s been hanging around outside, eating the food I leave for my original cat, who refuses to come inside, due to overcrowding. He- lets just call him ‘he’ for practical purposes- he finally came over to me last night, and let me pet him. I could tell that he belonged to someone at one time, because he is super tame and sweet, but very thin and nervous. So, I sat with him a while, and gave him lots of love and scratches on the butt. I felt pretty good about it.
Anyway, I went back inside, and that’s when the crying began. I mean, he sat there and cried and cried and cried until I finally opened the door. When I did, he darted inside, and now he refuses to leave. My other cats are very distressed, hissing and spitting and growling, but this cat gives no fucks at all. He’s like, I’m here, get used to it. I tried putting him back outside, but he is having none of that at all.
My older daughter Aisley calls me the Cat Whisperer, because cats love me. I think that’s a kind way of calling me a Cat Lady. Either way, it looks like I have a new cat. Dammit.