I’m not particularly good at Halloween. For most of my life, my costumes have alternated between some variation on a cat and a cheerleader. (The year I went as She-ra was a big leap for me.) This year, I again embraced my lazy costuming and went as, well, myself. A pair of cat ears and my regular attire made me a cat lady. (I let my coworkers determine whether or not I was a crazy cat lady. The vote was a unanimous yes.)
In my “old age,” I’ve gradually accepted and even embraced the fact that I’m a crazy cat lady. I’ve had cats for all but perhaps six months of my life, and there’s a cat sleeping on my feet even at this moment. I’m always quick to pull out a picture of my McCartney Jane, and I firmly believe she chose me as hers at the second we met.
Cat people get a bad rep. But dog people really aren’t much different. So what’s the big deal?
This is what I know: Regardless of the animal who calls you his or her own, pets are soothing and reliable friends. When I’ve gone through hard times (and I’ve faced plenty of them in recent years!), I can count on my cat to run to my side when she hears me bawling and cuddle up beside me as I face the night.
I think the biggest difference between dog people and cat people may be that dogs are so much better suited for extroverts. They typically love to join their owners on an outing; today I was reminded of how comfortable Mac is with the vet, but also of how much she hates the car. Cat people enjoy their pet’s comfort in the quiet of their own home, often with a good book at their side.
Speaking of, I think I’ll pick up the novel currently sitting beside me and enjoy it with my cat at my feet. I’ve always been comfortable in my role as a bookworm, and I’ve been a crazy cat lady for even longer.
The #bloglikecrazy prompt for day two was to defend something that usually gets a bad rap. And well, whether I’ve done crazy cat ladies justice or not, I’m hanging out with the best pet that ever was. Oh, and today’s subject line comes from the Old ’97s song “Murder or a Heart Attack,” which was written about Rhett Miller’s roommate’s cat.