Stephen, this post is for you.
For most of the past three years, I have referred to myself as a Cat-Lady-In-Training. Recent events have made it clear to me that I ain’t in trainin’ no mo. Oh no. I live by myself, and I have three big fat ass cats who basically rule my life. Every night’s sleep is punctuated by requests to go outside, then screams outside my window an hour later to come back in, and at six in the morning, just as I’m entering the deepest throes of dream land in the few hours I have, I am awoken by three cats dive-bombing me to ask for food.
I try to train them, try to get them on regular schedules, but every time I do, my mom or my brother comes to stay, feeds them too much or too many times, and it’s like all my hard work never existed.
But how can I say no? I’ve had these babies since they were babies. We bottle-fed them from infancy, and they are so sweet. I may be jaded and cynical about many-a-thing in this world but even I am not immune to the fluffiness of a cat.
Bunny at six weeks old
Hector and Paris at 6 weeks old
How is it possible they were ever this small?
Hector at 5 years
Paris at 5 years
I embrace my cat-lady being. They keep me warm.
I’m seventeen years old here, meeting a new love.
Doesn’t look like too much has changed.