I grew up with pets. My parets always had dogs, and the dogs were a major part of our family. As a young adult, I found myself living alone in a small, inner city apartment with nothing living near me save the weeds growing in the sidewalk cracks. To remedy the situation, I found Frankie, my short hair orange tabby, at the local humane society. Over the years, two others, Roscoe and Deano (who I have recently re-named Miss Dean because she is a girly girl with a boy name) have made their way into my home.
During my heyday of dating, when I'd meet someone new and mention I have three cats the eyebrow always went up accompanied by a grin that told me the gentleman didn't want to express his exact thoughts. I had one man tell me I'm only truely a "Crazy Cat Lady" if I replace the cats as they pass away to the afterlife! Does that mean I am in pre-Crazy Cat Lady status, and the state of my Crazy Cat Lady-dom hinges on how long my sweet babies survive? That relationship promtly ended when I told him that I only date men who are more entertaining than the cats, because they will entertain me for hours with their antics of rastle and chase.
Yes, I call them my "sweet babies." At least one of them is always willing to play, one always willing to purr, and one always willing to lay on his or her back and look up at me with pure cuteness. When I'm settled in to watch a movie, Miss Dean curls on my lap, and the boys sit on either side, completely surrounding me with their feline goodness. When my alarm sounds in the oh-so-early A.M., Frankie will be there next to me, purring away with a purr that says "Don't go to work, mommy, lay here with me." No matter what I'm doing, they want to be there, next to me. I love them for that.
They don't ask questions, like why am I home later than usual, what's for dinner (although they freely beg for their dinner), or when will I mow the lawn. Their only expectation is that they eventually eat, have clean litter, and get scratched under the chin now and again. I love them for that, too.
While I do not have a house swarming with cats, the three I have are so lovely, so sweet, and I wouldn't give them up for anything. Frankie alone has lived in three apartments and one house, saw me through two unsettling break ups, tolerated a roommate (and the roommate's cat, another story all together), and he does have the final say. Frankie isn't going anywhere. As for the other two, Roscoe is so overweight he is a magnificent conversation piece and Miss Dean is so damn cute yet crafty and anyone who dares pet her receives a hiss and paw swipe in return.
And I love them all.
