Prior to getting my two utterly gorgeous, beautiful, and darn-right purrrrfect (oh dear lord, I actually just did that, didnt I? I hang my head in shame) cats a year and a half ago, I wasn’t much of a ‘cat girl’, to be honest. They just didn’t really interest me. Dog? Sure. Cat? Meh.
I am sure we are all aware of at least one of ‘those’ sort of people – you know, the one who idolises his/her cat(s) and treats them as though they are in fact their biological child(ren)? Who go to work with camera phones filled to full capacity with photos of their ‘babies’, ready to thrust in the face of anyone demonstrating even the slightest bit of interest in cats (it doesn’t really take much – just using the word ‘cat’ in a sentence will usually reward you with an hours worth of ‘kitty pic’s’ – “And heres one of Fluffy with a sock! And here’s one of Fluffy with a ball! And here’s one of Fluffy licking his own arse! And here’s …” yawn yawn yawn).
I couldn’t think of anything worse, to be honest. An animal that comes home having spent most of the day roaming the streets, demanding food in a manner that might make one wonder who, exactly, is the owner, and who the pet? An animal that spends most of its time (once food has been demanded and ‘served’) in the house fast asleep, before leaving again for hours on end (having left wonderful ‘presents’ of yacked-up fur on your sofa) on its quest to roam some more, maybe attempt to carelessly shag around, and unabashedly poo wherever might take it’s fancy?
Affection? Only if it wants to be stroked. Loyalty? I can pretty much guarantee if you were stood in one corner of a room, a stranger (to the cat, not you, silly) in another corner, but armed with a palm full of some nice little kitty treats, I am sure – almost certain (in fact, I would go as far as betting my…erm… (hmm, there is a chance I could lose here..).. Aha! My ‘funky’ wrapping paper collection – what? Its good!) – they would abandon you – their lovely, loyal, caring owner – and head straight to the arms of the treat-offering stranger. Traitor.
So imagine my surprise, upon deciding to get two (yes, not one, but two) cats for company (my partner spends a lot of his spare time fishing, and, rather pathetically, I started to whine like a small toddler that I felt lonely, and disliked being “so alone I could cry!” Yeah, a few glasses of wine had been consumed that night), that the solution offered to me was cats. And that I too became one of ‘those’ people. I am ‘that’ person now. Oh dear lord…
I am a crazy ‘cat girl’.
I fell I love with my boys the very moment I saw them, and upon arriving home with my two bundles of grey fluff, found my entire world began to slowly pivot around them.
If I happened to pop to the pub for a post-work beer (yes, I must confess, I am a pint kinda girl), I would ensure one eye was always on the clock, conscious that the ‘babies’ would need feeding very soon. Down the pint would go, good-byes were hollered to those closest (anyone not in hearing range just didn’t get one), boyfriend was grabbed by the sleave, into the van and full steam ahead to home.
The funny thing was, I really didn’t notice the transformation from Belle to ‘crazy cat lady’ at all.
I’d arrive at work, happy at the thought of my two kittens getting up to mischief at home while “Mummy and Daddy” (oooh yes, it really is that bad) were away for the day, and without meaning to, find that no matter the conversation I was having with people, it always seemed to swerve back to my ‘babies’.
Hmmm. How did we get here? I’d think. I didn’t dwell for too long, though; out came the phone and out flowed the many explanations to the pictures: “And here’s one with Ralphie drinking some water, and here’s one of Oscar playing with some string, oh and here’s one…”
Yet it STILL didn’t dawn on me!
The moment of my clarity came when I was sat at home, reading a book, and suddenly heard a loud, distressed noise coming from my kitchen.
Now, first I must explain that my kitchen door leads to my garden, and the majority of this door is glass. Top to bottom, clear glass.
So I got up to investigate, and found both my cats with their back fur up, and trying to hide from the door. On the other side of this door was the meanest, most bad-ass looking tabby cat I have ever seen! Battle wounds all over its face. And he was glaring – yes, glaring! – at my boys!
I was so mad! How DARE he stare like that and upset my cats!
I threw the door open, chased the cat away, and came back into my kitchen where I bundled both boys up into my arms and made – wait for it – shushing, calming noises at them!
Yes! I was trying to console my cats from the ‘mean old neighbour cat’!
Forget the fact both of them forgot all about the ‘meanie’ the second he was out of sight, I was enraged! Filled with a maternal feeling of protection!
(I realise I am using far too many exclamation marks here, but really! I was furious!)
So there you have it. My moment of clarity. I, Belle Medland, am officially a crazy cat lady on a quest to protect my boys from any harm life tries to throw at them.
They say talking about the problem is the first step to a solution, right?
Well, here’s hoping.