I think I have to finally admit it. I’m one of those people. You know the kind – the ones walking that razor-sharp line between doting pet owner and Crazy Cat Lady.
I have a few things in my favor:
- I’m married
- I have only two cats
- I don’t dress my cats in wee little outfits
- I have not named my cats Mr. Whisker-Snoot, Figgy Fluffybottom or similar
The opposing argument:
- I refer to my cats as my children with four legs and a tail
- I’m guilty of kitty baby-talk when bringing out or putting away cat toys for them
- I buy my cats Christmas presents
- Each feline also has a Christmas stocking which Santa Claws fills
- I will lie all night in an uncomfortable position because there’s a cat sleeping on me and I can’t bear to disturb her
- The cats have more toys than I have bras. And I have a LOT of bras.
Overall, the girls have it pretty good. They get fed twice a day, plus treats at bedtime. They get play and snuggle time on demand, and only when it suits them. They own everything in the house, including me.
If I’m reincarnated as a cat, is that a step down or a step up?
Every once in a while I’ll find myself telling one of many cat anecdotes. As my listener’s eyes glaze over I think, Oh God, not again, but I can’t seem to stop myself.