Somehow I just know I will wind up a crazy cat lady.
How do I know?
When visiting an old friend, I discovered she had become one. Instead of rubbing my hands in desperation at her state of affairs and thinking how I might help her deal with her predicament, I found myself envious. She has fifteen cats she’s responsible for. I have only three. She is twelve cats richer, and twelve cats luckier than I am.
If you are one who finds one cat a cat too many, you will not understand. If you find each cat to be a precious masterpiece, you know what I mean. Just look at her deck on a balmy Saturday morning. Not all fifteen felines were there then, but those who were made it glorious.
Hemingway said, “One cat just leads to another.” I don't know if he liked cats. I suspect as a manly man he probably didn’t. You can't control cats, just marvel at their grace and perfection. Manly men usually prefer dogs. Dogs come when they’re called. Cats take a message and get back to you later. When they do get back to you, you feel either annoyed or honored. Only the latter, those who feel honored, would begin to understand this post.
The notion that cats are solitary is false. They live in colonies when they are feral, and make cozy families when they are household pets. Mine lick each other and cuddle with each other every day. My friend’s fifteen cats were civilized eating their breakfast. No pushing, shoving, or a hiss in sight. Just a decorous glorious feast. See?
I know. I’m doomed already.