in defense of the crazy cat lady

lately, when someone asks me how many cats i have, i've taken to holding up 4 fingers, like saying the number out loud is some sort of admission of guilt. and if i'm lucky, instead of outright derision, i'll be met with a look of pity and an indulgent smirk.

it doesn't help that i'm a single 35 year old female librarian. i'm pretty thoroughly a stereotype. but the cat thing really isn't my fault. i grew up in a little apartment with my parents and brother, so cats were really the biggest pet you could have, and we had cats the entire time i lived there. people are often fond of the kind of pet they grew up with. it's perfectly normal.

but 4? ok. maybe that's a bit self-indulgent. i got the 2nd one to keep the first company while i was at work. but they didn't really get along, so when a neighbor found a stray and asked if i was interested in taking him in, i didn't hesitate. and i said 3. never more than 3. that would just be crazy! and then this happened on instagram:

shut up, clearly that cat had to come home with me. i obviously had no choice but to take him in!

whenever someone makes fun of me or looks at me funny or calls me a crazy cat lady, i get a bit tongue-tied. i want to defend myself, but i know i shouldn't have to. i know it shouldn't matter what anyone thinks of me. but i'm a 35 year old single lady, and often i feel in a vulnerable position. what if i am crazy? what if i'm weird and un-date-able? women only have value while they're fuckable, and lord knows i'm past my prime in terms of looks, so clearly my decision to have 4 cats is a statement to the world that i've decided to give up and embrace spinsterhood (which i *do* joke about. it's not the worst fate.) but my decision to have 4 cats has nothing to do with anything other than the fact that they utterly and truly bring me nothing but pure joy.

ok, maybe that's the teensiest, tiniest bit hyperbolic. cleaning puke off my freshly-washed comforter or wiping poop off a writhing, yowling cat's foot will never bring me joy. but those moments are far, far fewer than the moments of pure joy. i can't explain to you how i feel when a happy, purring cat looks up from my lap with sleepy eyes and gives me that contented half-meow.

and whenever i hear or see things that make me sad, people treating each other awfully, people treating animals awfully, i look at my cats and think, "i can't make everything better in the world, but i can make everything awesome for THEM. i can do just that little bit of good and treat these 4 little creatures with all the love and kindness that i wish i was willing and able to give the rest of the world."

and that fills me with pure joy.

i can only hope that you can find something that gives you that feeling on a regular basis. spouse, kid, pet, plants, volunteering, hobbies, work. whatever. i won't ever mock you for finding some harmless thing that makes you truly happy.

i wish that for you, with all my heart.

so maybe cut me some slack with the 4 cats, k?


*(see more of my cats on instagram)

Hell hath no fury like a pissed-off blogger...

Ok, so I know this is not library-related, but it's about my cat, and it's a very librarian-ish thing to do to have a cat, so, by the transitive property of blogging, this is library-related, no? Anyway, yesterday I had to bring my cat to the vet to have her put to sleep, because she had FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis), which is 100% fatal and eventually causes their bodies to attack themselves, and all her organs had begun shutting down. Ridiculously sad, right?

So I call during the day yesterday to make an appointment for today, and they tell me they can take me that same day at 7pm. Not my first choice, because I definitely wanted more time to spend with her, but I know it is selfish to keep her suffering just for me, so I take the appointment. I leave work early and take her in the yard all afternoon, because she loves it there, and then take her right from the yard to the vets', so that her peaceful time outside will be her last memories.

When I get to the vets' office however, I am ignored and left waiting for AN HOUR, with no explainations and no apologies, and when my boyfriend finally has the NERVE to actually complain, the girl at the desk is rude to him and tells us it's our fault for not alerting them when we signed in why we were there. Gee, I'm sorry I'm a wreck because I'm having my beloved pet put down and just assumed that you had an appointment book somewhere with the reason for my visit, which I clearly stated when I made the appointment EARLIER THAT SAME DAY. And nowhere in all her blame-shifting and aggressiveness was there any sort of an apology. Then, when we are finally taken in the room and the procedure is underway, the girl is in the back with some other workers, laughing and joking around, and generally having a merry old time, despite the fact that we are now THE ONLY people left in the office, and she obviously knows what is going on in the room....ARGH!!!!!!!

So maybe there is some small lesson in here for librarians, or anyone who works with the public all day: BE NICE. If she had just apologized when we complained, and was nice to us, it would have ended there and I wouldn't be ranting to everyone I know about how I'm never going back there and how they should tell everyone they know not to ever go there. That's it, just be nice. Even when people are frustrated with you, be nice. Even if they are short with you, be nice.

As a matter of fact, I think Patrick Swayze said it best in roadhouse... Oh the wisdom of the Swayz...