In a world gone mad, if it were not for the ever-present abundance of cats in my life, I would surely go mad myself. When getting dressed is half the battle…when the uncertainty of why I should even bother getting out of bed most days plagues my soul, these cats give me purpose. They need me and I need them. When humans fail me, I can always count on the feline for love and laughs; comedic geniuses they are.
Having eight of these beauties ensure I receive vital affection throughout the day. And whether or not this said affection is strictly selfish on their part is quite irrelevant. It still feels good. Sometimes their importunate headbutts occur at the most inopportune times, but this also ensures I will never be left alone to huddle in a corner and rock myself into oblivion. Depression has no place in a home of 8 annoyingly persistent creatures. They do what they want, when they want.
Need proof God exists? Look no further than the domestic cat; scientific terminology, Felis Catus Domesticus. There's so many of them, yet each is assigned a unique personality all its own. How is this possible?!?! God, that's how. (I bet Adam and Eve had a ton of them in the garden and that's probably how they got distracted and fell into sin. Cats can do that.) And I'm pretty convinced this curious species have been supernaturally led to my vicinity in order to appoint me as their chosen human. . . once in close range their ultrasonic hearing picks up a beacon only they can hear.
Yes, I said chosen. I am the chosen one. They come from miles around to claim me. Word has gotten out to every vulnerable and needy mammal within a ten mile radius, carnivorous and omnivorous alike. If any should cross paths when in close proximity to my house they whisper amongst themselves, “That lady over there? Yeah, she’s a huge sucker." I thought if I moved up north I could start over, but I underestimated the power of the grapevine for it wasn't long before my history of helping baby squirrels, raccoons, bunnies, and even mice caught up to me. And any critter who's out of the loop is sure to find out about me when attending their secret mandatory meetings.
The possums and squirrels have shown to be mostly self reliant, but for some odd reason they like to remind me that they are always there, watching, listening, waiting . . . for what I really don't know. I think it's just some sort of sick game. Raccoons, on occasion, like to take dumps on my roof for fun; they have no shame. I can hear them snicker when I clean it up. But the boldest among these mammalian scammers are the felines. So confident have they become in my rumored weakness that they brazenly trot right up to my slider door and knock. That’s right, THEY KNOCK.
Any plans I may have had in the back of my mind to one day “downsize” in order to perhaps attain my childhood dream of that long desired puppy have been self defeating at best. For the strayed feline populace of my jurisdiction say nay as they continuously show up at my door and I haven’t the heart nor the capability to turn a blind eye; as they all well know. And every time another one of my sweet and desperately loved kitty companions leaves this world to journey across that rainbow bridge, a new kitty is in my backyard patiently awaiting its turn, number in hand, ready to take its coveted place. (I still haven't found that take-a-number ticket dispenser. Clever little buggers.)
But alas, I am not a crazy cat lady, for one would be crazy to ignore the plight of any creature in need. If I am guilty of anything, it’s of weakness; of having too much compassion towards anything cute and furry.
Cat-Keeper's Log Entry #1