Cat Lady Territory
It’s National Puppy Day, or something along those lines kind of day on the internet, but I don’t have a puppy, so I can’t partake. But what I can do is mark this day as the day I officially come out as being a cat lady.
I didn’t see this coming. I know you all did, but I didn’t.
I never cared much for cats, as I’ve always been allergic, and mostly I’d only been semi-attacked by them most of my life. My friend Melissa had the scariest cat I’d ever seen…it was fat, and it’s sole purpose in life was swatting at your feet when you walked by. I don’t think the cat had its front claws, but it was terrifying nonetheless.
Here I am though, I own a cat.
To get over the allergies, all I had to do was drink onion infused water. I competed with my mom to see who could keep from throwing up after drinking it. Note, honey does NOT make that shit any better. Fortunately, it worked and I no longer swell up or sneeze around felines.
I found myself in bed alone at night and decided I needed a breathing being in my bed at night, so I decided to go to the shelter to get a cat around Christmas time. There were only three there at the time, and only one particular cat would actually come out into the open to see me at the shelter. The others just hissed and batted you away from their tiny caves. So, they put her in a little cardboard box and sent me home. Her name was Chloe. I promptly decided her name should be Samantha, and by God she’s sassy enough to own that name.
It wasn’t pretty. At night, Samantha would stalk me in my own bedroom and just as I was about to fall asleep every night, she’d go on the defense and attack my arm. I watched video after video of what to do.
“Just lay still and your cat will soon get bored of mauling you and move on,” the videos said. Well, I’m here to tell you that’s a fucking lie. She didn’t get bored. I would lie imperfectly still and she’d still go to town, digging her teeth and claws into my flesh. One night, I’d had enough and started crying and praying to God. What had I done to deserve this loveless fucking furball of fury? I couldn’t take it anymore, so the next time she attacked, I gently took my middle finger and flicked her on the nose. She bolted away from me, and I haven’t had an issue since…well, I mean she no longer mauls me on a nightly basis.
Cats are hard man. They take no shit, and write down all the names. I think Samantha has named me Punk.
For whatever reason, I’m still terrified of cats, unlike I have ever been with dogs. Dogs are easy. They love you, they cuddle you, they lick you, often times when they’re not even treated right. Granted, there are some dogs that are just mean, but I’ve found mostly, Samantha is mean no matter what. She is picky, she is tireless, she is ornery, she is violent, and she is stingy with how much touching she will accept before she bites. One moment she is purring and pressing her body into my hand so I’ll pet her, then, her tail does one twitch and then she’s pouncing. Her and mom…DO NOT GET ALONG.
One night, I was naked (don’t ask why) and I decided to clean out her litter box. I squatted down, my hoo ha all out and about, and I was scooping the poo piles out of the container. Samantha waltzed around behind me and she bit my right butt cheek. She just grabbed a whole chunk of ass in her mouth like the little jerk she is. I couldn’t even be mad, I just laughed.
I won’t lie though, her constant companionship is endearing, though oftentimes dangerous. When I take baths, she hangs out and just watches. It’s only slightly creepy. Sometimes she jumps up on the ledge of the tub and tries to swat the water. I can say, the day she fell in the water with me was both hilarious and painful at the same time.
I will say, I’d rather be flogged than deal with the guilt I feel when I accidentally step on her. She lets out this wretched screech that hurts down into my glands.
Can I just say, if the cat toy makers of the world could just go ahead and create toys in the likeness of toilet caps and precious glass figurines, the world would be a better place.
I’m pretty sure the soundtrack of Samantha’s life would be Queen’s Greatest Hits, Don’t Stop Me Now, being her favorite. There literally is no stopping her, she wants to randomly sprint at 3am, like an atom bomb, she’s sprinting, she wants to maul my sweater being a legit Killer Queen, she’s mauling my sweater. She definitely floats around in ecstasy, having a good time. The house eventually explodes in Bohemian Rhapsody as she tears through the blinds and uses everything other than her three scratching posts, as scratching posts.
But oh those moments when she curls up by me, those are the moments I live for. Sometimes she presses her face into mine and rubs her nose on my cheek. See, her love didn’t come unconditionally. I couldn’t just exist and expect her loving clicks. I had to watch her, and see how she could stand to be loved. I’ve learned, she could survive without me. Every head boop she gives me is earned, and every cuddle is chosen. That’s a pretty great choice to be.
So yeah, I’m a cat lady now. She won me over. I’m ok with that.