Last night my friend sent me this delightful image…
Funny right? I thought so, in fact I actually laughed my ass off! “Oh they think I’m going to turn into a crazy cat lady, ha ha ha. Those guys!” But then I started to get hot flashes and heart palpitations. It would seem that it caused a slightly more volatile reaction then what was originally intended. “Oh my god, they think I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life! Am I too set in my ways? Do they think me as a dry crusty plain toasted piece of white bread who is so plain she will never even be labelled as the granary kind? Is it because I’ve turned into a fat tubby pile of sh*t?! That’s got to be the reason!” After this quickfire round of insane questions and statements ricochetted around inside my cranial skull, I then started to believe that all had been lost, that hope had left the building and I might as well accept my plight and go quietly down with the sinking ship. My imagination ran wild with one miserable scenario in particular that repeated itself over and over again. It was of me roaming (most likely waddling) the desolate streets of whatever godforsaken city I was in and be known to all as the plumpy pied piper of cats.
Have I ever told you that I have a slight over exaggerated flair when it comes to how I think others see me as? Most of the time, I don’t care, but sometimes there are those rare occasions when I just turn into a mental case. Well, you no doubt got a tiny glimpse of my inner psycho just then. Imagine thinking like that all the time. Now, before you start hauling me over to the loony bin I’ll have you know that since becoming a hermit (therefore not interacting with people and therefore pretty damn near impossible to get hurt) I have managed to avoid overloading my brain which in turn helped me curb my syndrome that is commonly known to me and my close friends as the “Crazies”. So you see my fellow Crazies out there roaming the streets, there is a glimmer of hope. All you have to do is stop thinking and live a life of solace.
Now, this idea of turning into a cat lady scared the holy heebie-jeebies out of me. If I looked into the future, would I see the inevitable derailment resulting in a bloodied massacre of how my life will undoubtedly veer towards? The answer to that is an emphatic, YES! Under my careful calculations, it seems that at 35 I will have achieved that very nightmare, easily and without breaking a sweat. That is in five years people! Not ten, like the above poster states. Five years and I will be buying little kitty sweaters that say ‘Meeoowww’ or ‘Got Milk?’ or ‘ Cats Are Puurrrfect’ spewed across my chest. A proud and loveable cat owner of about 30 cats who always has hair and whiska packets on her. Granted I have no cats or animals to speak of now. But something has shifted, I have noticed my face de-tense, softening the scowled look upon it as I come across fluffy little kitty pictures on the internet or, my personal favourite, youtube clips showing fat kitties laying around being fat. McVities (a biscuit company) even coaxed out my softer side when they featured the cutest fluffiest kitties I have ever seen in my whole entire life. My heart melted and turned into a puddle of mushy, gooey, watery love for all the world to see. Jesus, I am officially disgusted with myself. I could not stop this rollercoaster of emotions that was bubbling up inside of me.
Let’s put things into perspective. I am not seeing anyone nor do I think anyone is in the market to purchase the calamity that I have to offer. I hardly ever go out because it will no doubt be me and a bunch of couples. My friends have all obviously settled down and conversations have now magically shifted to a more baby, home, mortage, family type of affair. Some have tried to set me up on a few dates in the hopes that I will get on this marriage, baby making wagon. But the shoe never fit quite right with any of them. So I would revert back into my cave and wait the cold winter months out. Hoping that once spring has thawed all the vegetation it would be prime time to find another suitor. This has unfortunately been going on for a while. And after a long desert-like drought, a woman can feel a sense of anguish. Like the world is telling her to hurry up already. But I, like the docile panda find it hard to mate. Hence their numbers have dwindled in the last few decades, almost to the point of near extinction. I too am a dying breed. I refuse to settle just because I have to or it’s what’s required of me. I am of the mind that it should be for the right reason, for love, for attraction, for compatibility and for finding that person that is the missing long lost puzzle piece to your, up until now, unsolvable board game. I have never been one to mingle with sheep who bob along with the masses. Let me get this straight, just because I am of a certain age gives enough cause that I simply must settle down and start a baby making factory with the first random schmo that comes along? I should hope not. But I tell you, when you are in the presence of only couples you start forgetting your senses. You start halucinating, now looking at those random schmoes just to not feel the pang of the cursed singlettes life. You lose yourself at times especially in the company of mushy, hand holding, over abused PDA douches that fling it around left, right and centre. I mean there is only so much your immune system can fight off before turning into a zombie and succumbing to the will of the masses. I am under no spell, nor am I feeling sorry for myself when I say, maybe my time has past to meet the right person. Maybe I met him and never had the courage to stick it out. Maybe it was because I am too big of a nut case or maybe it’s because of all the things I have seen and experienced that the trust has flown right out the window. Or maybe there are only assholes left in this world. Maybe, maybe, maybe…
As the hours passed, it was time to go home for the day and to finally lay this whole cat catastrophe to rest. My journey this time seemed longer than usual, no doubt aided by the thoughts of frolicking little kitties burdening my already tired mind. I got off the bus as I usually do (my routine rarely changes) and what pray tell do I notice as I walked down my lonely street? A grey and white fluffy, furry, fat feline. I have never, I repeat, have never seen a cat roaming around on my street before. It could be because I had never really paid attention before. But I of course jumped to the conclusion that the process of the infamous pied piper curse had set its wheels in motion. It stared at me, pausing as it took the sight of me in. And that’s when I realised that they can smell loneliness and fear. Just like a shark being able to smell a drop of blood, dancing around in the ocean a great many miles away. At that moment my loneliness was palpable. So one could conclude that a cat had the power to smell it and come running.
I could see his beady little eyes toying with me, analysing if I would be a good leader to him and his fellow fluffballs. I of course was frozen, my only movement was that of my eyes darting around looking for an alternative escape route. I slowly moved forward inch by inch while the furball sat there, staring, only moving his round little head to follow my progression. I finally dug deep within myself and managed to pluck up enough courage to steam along with gusto just so I could get this nightmare over and done with. I was almost in the clear. I adamantly battled with my relfexes to not turn my head one last time to see him. But I had lost. My head turned, I looked him square in the eyes and without hesitation started talking to the beast telepathically. “Listen Fluffy, you don’t own me. I will never become your fearless leader, your companion, your comrade. I will get a f**king dog! In fact I will get a whole f*cking fleet of dogs so that they can chase your furry little ass around all over town.” I lifted my hand, extending my index finger and pointed it in his direction as I rattled the rant around in my head. To a person who might have stumbled across my situation from a distance I most definitely looked like a lunatic waving my finger around in a furious manner all the while not saying a word. Cat whisperer indeed. But I didn’t care if anyone saw me. I did however feel a sense of triumph after our stare down. Though to my dismay, all joy was wiped away as Mr. Fluffy stood up, moved one paw in my direction as if ready to pounce, and hissed at me. That little sh*thead hissed at me! I tell you, I have never jumped so high nor moved so fast before in my whole entire life. I high tailed it down the street leaving nothing but a puff of smoke in between me and the furry beast’s epic showdown; of course never looking back. I did not want to see the smirk on his face, the knowing in his eyes, the inevitable bowing of my will, succumbing to a life of the lonely cat lady. As I inhaled a big gulp of air I started to eventually calm down. A sigh escaped my lips and a little smirk started to form in the corner of my mouth. F*ck it, I thought, I still had a few good years left to enjoy life. If I happened to become the pied piper of the western world, then I will become the best god damn pied piper of cats there ever was. You hear that you furry little bastards! I shall conquer you all!