Don’t Call Me Crazy, and Don’t Call Me the Cat Lady

photo of my cats

Don’t call me crazy and don’t call me a cat lady. Am I not cool because I own felines? I only have two and they are rescues so it’s okay.

I acquired Harlow after her owner passed away. Only one-year old and an orphan, I just couldn’t let her go to a shelter. Her fluffy fur, gray stripes and huge paws always make me smile. Her sister, Henna, I affectionately call, “ghetto cat,” is literally from the streets of Trenton, NJ. Only a few months old, she is a true long-hair, tortoise shell “bruiser.”

There is no such thing as a crazy dog person in this country, is there? I know tons of people who are completely insane about their dogs, but cats, for some reason, are symbolic of a certain lifestyle. You know; the eating ice cream and staying home watching movies on Lifetime lifestyle. Do cats represent the danger of growing so independent that people no longer know how to need anyone?


I honestly don’t think cats should be associated with curmudgeonly shut-ins. I think it takes a lot of confidence to own a cat and be content with publicly adoring it. Not overly adoring, though.  I enjoy spending time with dignified, intelligent, and for the most part, well-behaved animals. Harlow and Henna have never humped anyone’s leg (at least not solicited), nor have I walked into the kitchen to find them digging in the trash.

My cats are compact and quiet most of the time. I can leave them for a weekend and they have a natural skill set that prevents them from urinating on the floor. Since having cats, I believe their mere presence deters rodents, too.

For as long as I can remember, dogs have been the “default,” and cats the unusual strain. My confirmation came yesterday when I strolled into the pet store and saw an explosion of toys celebrating dogs’ existence.

At least what cats lack in retail stores, they make up for in cheesy poetry. Hmmm. I think that statement is my epiphany. This is why the words “crazy” and “cat lady” are bound tighter than a spool of yarn. These poetry books could be sitting on the crazy ladies coffee table. Just for the record, I have art books on my coffee table.

So, don’t call me crazy and don’t call me a cat lady.

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3 Responses to Don’t Call Me Crazy, and Don’t Call Me the Cat Lady

  1. Sarah Sherman says:

    Chuckle. We had feral cats show up at our house almost 3 years ago and they are family now as far as we’re concerned. The love of an animal is something every human needs to experience in their lifetime, it is unlike any other love. I had a cat named Maya for a short time, and “don’t call me crazy” but one night I came home after drinks with friends and we had an entire conversation through direct sustained eye contact :)

  2. Jill says:

    You are soo not a “crazy cat lady.” Love this post and love your 2 cuties too, picture is priceless. :)

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