OK, I don’t really think that I’m going to all of a sudden become some hermit who owns 22 cats, wears large jackets during the summer, and quotes obscure literature under her breath.
But. The stigma is there, people, and it’s not completely ill-founded. I own a cat (a recent venture for me; Squint adopted me about 1.5 months ago), and I’ve started noticing disturbing shifts in my attitudes and behaviors towards him and other animals in general.
My only context with animals growing up was any time spent around extended relatives. My mother greatly abhors furry critters (actually, critters of any kind) and we didn’t really have pets growing up due to that fact. I did have a hamster for a few years, but when she died there was no talk of me ever having a new one (go figure). For a long time I rationalized that since my mom didn’t like animals that I, too, possessed the same dislike; I treated it as if liking or disliking animals was a genetic trait that could be passed on through generations. On some level that may have been true–my most vivid memories of being at my grandmother’s house as a kid involve the great amount of animal hair that covered all the furniture and collected in little piles underneath said furniture, the permanent dog smell, and the intense and incessantly shrill chirps of her parakeets. I didn’t really care for any of those and sequentially decided that meant that I wasn’t a “pet-lover.”
It wasn’t until I moved out on my own after college and in with a friend from high school that I even entertained the idea of liking animals. She had two cats, both of which soon adopted my bedroom and everything in it as part of theirs. Any time I was home (I kept the door shut when I wasn’t there, because reasons) I would often find one or both of them in my room curled up in my comforter or hiding under my bed. And any time I was in my bed watching Netflix, reading, etc., I would inevitably have a cat snuggled up against me.
I think it’s definitely possible that cats possess some kind of hypnotic power; after 6 months of living in that house I decided that I, too, wanted my own kitty. It had to wait, though, as I moved around a few more times before eventually settling into my current place. A month and a half ago I went out to the Birmingham Humane Society and found the snuggly kitty that I now own.
Owning Squint has definitely made me start to question the crazy cat-lady idea a little bit. I mean, I genuinely think that conception is extremely sexist and not actually a thing. But… having one cute little kitty definitely makes you think about maybe just maybe getting another one, someday. Maybe someday soon.
And I find myself taking an awful lot of pictures of him.
Like this one of him sleeping.
Or this one. Also of him sleeping.
He’s just so damn cute when he sleeps. I mean, seriously. Like right now: he’s asleep on my couch and he keeps flopping around and stretching out and being generally adorable. It’s taking a lot of willpower not to take pictures of him/go over there and scoop him up, thus ending his nap and probably making him a wee bit grumpy.
I also find myself talking to him. All the time. I mean, I think I knew that part was going to happen. But after having entire conversations with him I will sometimes stop and think, “Did I just seriously talk to my cat for 5 minutes? And use that conversation to make an important life decision?”
Like I said, it has to start somewhere. And I currently fit the bill being single, living on my own, and owning a kitty.
Breakfast: crispy fried sweet potatoes and broccoli, bacon, and two eggs over-easy.
Lunch: I actually was so full from breakfast that I didn’t really eat lunch.
Snack: A handful of cashews.
Dinner: Stuffed green peppers. Om nom nom nom.
After-dinner: An apple. And possibly another handful of cashews.