They say that any single woman who has more than two cats is a crazy cat lady. I don't know if that is true. I just don't believe that you have to have cats to be crazy. You could be one of those people who has 14,000 porcelain dolls lined up all over the house, for instance, or you might collect life-sized statues of the Virgin Mary. I would consider those preoccupations a bit off, even if cats were not involved. Being in a house full of those dolls or life-sized statues would just give me a serious case of the heebie-jeebies, and that affliction would forever be associated with the owner of said items.
I only had two cats when I met my husband, however. He brought home three more to live with us. So is HE the crazy cat lady? I would like to think that we are both fond of animals, and that we are raising a child who will be fond of animals. I have already braced myself for the idea of finding toads, snakes and other small critters in pockets or other containers and hearing the inevitable "Can I keep him?" I am all set for those kinds of questions, if I am asked.
The other day I heard my son talking in the kitchen. Not unusual--kids play pretend all the time, right? I continued what I was doing, which was reading blogs(very important!). I kept an ear directed Zane's way, in case there was screaming or other emergency parent stuff.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my son walk over to the cat food bowl in the kitchen. He pointed at the bowl, and seemed to be offering instructions on its use. Zane then pointed at the water bowl.
Cool, he's pretending to be a tour guide, I thought.
Zane walked into the living room where I was sitting and pointed at me, still talking. Wait--was I so stationary that my child thought of me as a museum exhibit?
Then I saw the cat. THIS cat, or his twin:
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It seems that my precious four-year-old just randomly opened the back door and invited this cat inside. I don't have any idea why this cat was out in our back yard, but it really didn't matter to Zane. This was his cat now, and here was said cat, looking to me for cheezburgers.
I was proud of myself; I did not yell. I picked up the cat, patted him on the head, and scooted him out the door. I explained to Zane about letting strange kitties into the house and why it wasn't a good idea. We washed our hands, I turned around, and...the cat was inside the house again. Geez. Okay, maybe a little yelling happened then.
Now the cat is parked on our back step, his little face peeping in through the window.
Staring at me.
He's kind of cute.