By now, most of you have probably realized than I am a bit obsessed with animals. For reasons most people fail to understand, I am particularly fascinated with cats — more specifically, overweight cats. (Enter: Gretel) Because of this, I get asked nearly everyday if I am a “cat person.” Perhaps it’s because I find a way to incorporate Buster into every conversation. I can’t help it, though — he’s just such a huge part of my life. I am like that girl who name-drops her boyfriend in every sentence, except this is even less acceptable because I am name-dropping my cat.
But regardless of my feelings towards cats, I can’t help but take offense to being referred to as a “cat person.” And that’s because I know what people see when they call me a “cat person”. They see me crouching on a beige, shag carpet somewhere, dressed in a high-collar floral nightgown with dozens of heavyset cats sprawled at my feet. My shoulders and hands are tanned from tending to my garden of Catnip, but my calves bear the scars of kittens yet to be de-clawed. Perhaps I have a perm, perhaps not — but my house definitely reeks of cigarettes and Friskies, a deadly combo for an asthmatic such as myself.
I say all of this because “cat person” is a small step away from “cat lady,” the likes of which I am steadily approaching. Some might think that this is a recent development, but the truth is that I began my journey towards Cat-ladydom at a young age. Buster was the obvious catalyst for my infatuation, but my rightful path was irreversibly forged the moment I brought in the Cats soundtrack for an elementary school show-and-tell.
And with that in mind, I’d like to share a few photos of my newest client, Milo:
With Milo, it was love at first sight. He was big and beautiful, with a full, orange coat that Buster (victim of male-patterned baldness) would kill for. At first, I was afraid that Milo’s girth was an illusion from his excessively long locks. But as I picked him up, I felt my biceps strain under the weight of his substantial frame. He was a prime example of my ideal body type for animals: small head, delicate ankles and portly midsection. If there were a pageant for plus-sized creatures such as he, he would surely have taken the crown. I looked around for a brush to groom his whiskers, but then I saw it: a cat leash and harness sitting on the kitchen counter. I do believe a small tear fell from my eye at that moment.
I managed to pull myself together in time to document the experience for your viewing pleasure:
My last day with Milo was a sad one, but I take solace in the hope that our paths will one day cross again.