Because This Is My Life: Crazy Cat Lady

I really, really, really, REALLY, REALLY, hate that single + female + cat ownership = crazy cat lady. It is my least favorite stereotype ever. Why? Because there really are crazy cat people out there. Have you seen Hoarders? I don't think that being a single female with a cat (or two) should automatically group you with those people. Also I don't like anyone to say anything about me that might indicate that I am not precipitously close to dead inside when it comes to pets. I was worried I had become weak and soft and feeling with this last batch of cats, but no. I have not.

A Tale of Two Kitties

I was, very sweetly, gifted a cat. A Siamese cat named Coco. Surprise gifted. This is the thing: never surprise gift someone a cat. Specifically, never surprise gift someone a cat that is used to being with other cats. And a family of people. Cats are, in fact, not solitary creatures. It is a very sweet gesture, but not the most practical.

Coco looking possessed. 


Coco cried. ALL. THE. TIME. meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooowwwwwwwww whaaaaaaaaaa whaaaaaaa whaaaaaaa meeeeoooooooowwwwwwwwwwww Annoyed yet? Here let's try some more. meeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwww whhaaaaaaaaa whoooooooooooo whaaaaaaaa meeeooooooooooowwwwwwwww Now? Okay good. We can move on then. Except that I need you to understand that Coco did this at 1 AM, 2 AM, 3 AM, 4 AM, 5 AM, and 6 AM directly in my face. And yet, Coco liked to couple this nightly neediness and desperation with an independent and standoffish personality during the day. Coco, quite literally, was the worst of both worlds. Something very, very bad was going to happen to Coco if things did not change soon.

In the meantime, I was asked to take in Coco's sister by Coco's original owners. Coco's behavior, however, was not exactly warming me up to the idea of another cat. But then one day in a sleep-deprived act of desperation, it occurred to me that getting Coco a friend might eliminate the crying.

Mocha/Barbara


Enter Mocha.

When Mocha arrived it was love at first sight. (Or as close to love as I get when it comes to pets). First of all, Mocha was fat. To me, there is nothing better than a morbidly obese cat. So cute! So LOLZ! Mocha also had a softer, glossier coat, was much quieter, and was all about the cuddlez! And this is where I veer into the weirder side of my personality to tell you that sometimes I sang Mocha songs and called her "Barbara" because she looked like a "Barbara" to me.  Better still, Mocha's presence all but silenced Coco. In fact, from the moment Mocha arrived, I basically ceased to acknowledge that Coco existed. I would tell people, "Oh no! I do not have two cats. I have a cat, Mocha, and Mocha has a cat, Coco." 

The thing about all living creatures, myself included, is that they are so much work. The feeding and the cleaning and the paying attention to and blah blah blah blah. It is safe to say that I am fairly unmotivated when I don't see the reward in using up my time and/or energy. It is also safe to say that I am not the type of person who sees the devotion of a cat as a super great reward. I mean, its nice, but you know not as nice as not having to lint roll every article of clothing you own 1800 times a day.

Heaven help me could there be any more cat hair????

Did I mention that I was now the not so proud owner of two short-haired Siamese whilst living in a tiny little studio apartment? Cat. Hair. Everywhere. Like, clogging my lungs and covering every square inch of everything all of the time, everywhere. No amount of lint-rolling and laundering and vacuuming(haha like I actually vacuum, but it was so bad that I actually paid someone to come vacuum) seemed to make it any better. That's how you know it was bad. I paid someone to come deal with it. And that someone actually had to stop because her slight cat allergy was aggravated to THREAT LEVEL RED by all of the cat hair everywhere. I came home and found her unconscious, totally passed out, with the cats circling her poor limp body. They smelled blood and I might not have filled their food bowl before I left the house that day.  Except that I lied just now. That totally didn't happen. But, it could have because: CAT HAIR EVERYWHERE! Also, they did get pretty scary when their food bowl was empty for longer then 30 seconds. And by longer than 30 seconds, I mean that they would preemptively start getting scary when the food bowl neared empty. In their defense, they were like camels about water though. Rarely complained.

The last straw.  The two last straws.

The last straw was when they attempted to kill my cleaner triggered my cleaner's allergies. I had come to L-O-V-E having my apartment cleaned on a regular basis by someone other than me. Granted, I would generally ruin all of her hard work within 24 hours, but that first 24 hours of cleanliness was so freeing. It made me understand why people actually do their dishes and vacuum instead of lounging in bed watching reruns of crime dramas while eating cookies and crackers in bed. Clean is so nice. The second last straw was when I discovered that Mocha had a disgusting habit that I had previously only attributed to Coco. I felt betrayed. How dare the cat I actually like be doing something I did not like! And I will not reveal what the bad habit is because I would like to leave both Coco and Mocha with a little bit of dignity. I like both of them just enough to not totally degrade them on this blog.

The end.

The cats are both gone now. But don't worry. They live on! Just not with me. I thought I might be sad and miss them. But I do not. I sometimes forget they are even gone. And then I remember and I feel slightly pleased. I do miss snuggling with Mocha just a teensy bit though.





The moral.

Surprise Siamese are a lot like the Spanish Inquisition. Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.