Readers, you and I, we understand each other. The understanding is that I love cats and all of you are
coerced willingly indulge in my obsession. It’s a great relationship we have, one that I cherish and hope to continue for all of time.
Yet, for all of my cat talk and my ceaseless blog posts about cats, I have to replay a recent phone conversation I had with my Mom.
“Mom, I have a section on my blog called ‘FelineFriday,'” I said on the phone.
“That’s great,” she said, distracted by something far less important than talking to me.
“I know, I’m just a regular old cat lady now,” I said, pleased with myself.
And then my Mom said this next:
“But Erin… you don’t HAVE a cat. So you can’t be really be a cat lady…right?”
Now I mainly tell this story because my lovely parents made the 5 hour trek to Minneapolis last weekend to visit me, and I’m feeling pretty nostalgic. And no, they did not bring Ollie. Apparently, he and my parents would have run out of things to say to one another and it would have been really awkward.
But I also tell the story because it sparked what I call an identity crisis, or a quarter-life crisis. Whatever, it was a CRISIS. A CAT CRISIS.
“I am, too, a cat lady,” I had replied. And then, to prove my point, I went around my postage stamp-sized apartment and took pictures of every cat related thing I own and sent some of them to her. (Isn’t she lucky?!) Which, sadly, is not the same thing as actually, you know, owning a REAL cat.
The realization was a bit of a catastrophe. The downward spiral was REAL. I started questioning everything in my life, every decision I’d ever made that had led me here, including every cat I’d ever seen. Which isn’t good, because we know my track record with decision making isn’t stellar.
Who am I, I wondered, if not a cat lady? I’d be a liar, a fake. I’d let down all of my fans (HAHA, hi three readers…).
And then I started thinking… being a cat lady isn’t about how many cat you have, but more a state of mind and being, how many cats you feel are in your soul (you know, not LITERALLY in your soul… never mind). Besides, just because Ollie is TECHNICALLY my parents’ cat, that doesn’t mean he’s no less mine. After all, I’m clearly his favorite.
And, to be fair, I do have enough cat memorabilia to count as a cat lady. I have a lovely cat APRON and cat, decorative towels hanging on my wall. How can I NOT be a cat lady?
On top of that, I’ve discovered that I become deeply upset when people leave their cats outside in Minneapolis. Why do people think it’s a good idea to leave pets outside, unattended, in a very large, very busy city? I stayed outside with poor Button (remember my first and only friend in Minneapolis?) for an hour after work, and his owners STILL didn’t return home to bring him inside. And he just follows people home, myself included. So he follows them across the street and into busy streets and…
Would anyone other than a CAT LADY patrol the streets this way? No. No they wouldn’t. So, for your viewing pleasure, here’s Button looking totally adorable and climbing a fence post.
And, lastly, whenever someone says “careful, Erin, you might become a cat lady someday if you’re not careful,” I can only respond with a wistful smile and say “I certainly hope I do.” #dreamsdocometrue
So what can I say readers? Cat or no cat, when destiny calls, you can’t ignore it. So here I am, embracing my inner-cat lady because either way, it’s who I am.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more cats to rescue around my neighborhood.