This weekend I got cornered at a party by an honest to god Crazy Cat Lady. It was awesome. she was 60-something and like nattered for 30 MINUTES about her cats. Cats she owned in the past, her current cats, other peoples cats, cats she would like to have… We covered IT ALL. I felt right at home and gave her a blow by blow of every cat i have ever owned and how I felt about each one, all their ailments and good traits, how they died, the pet names i had for them. EVERYTHING. I felt closer to her than to I do to Vim. Oh, except that Vim and I have had this same conversation and his clear obsession with his cat is the reason I wanted to date him. But anyway. The Crazy Cat Lady was awesome and it would have been better if there hadn’t been all this loud music and drinking going on. I should have taken her out for coffee and whipped out my flickr stream of ALL CATS ALL THE TIME. She met her match I tell you.
In other news I cried and had a panic attack at my therapist appointment today.
In more other news today was my last day blogging for Craft Gossip. I was too flaky and NOT INDIE ENOUGH. I didn’t ask what the fuck that meant but I’m assuming it meant that I wasn’t COOL ENOUGH (see cat conversations mentioned above). At first I was sad to see the 200$ a month go but now I feel a sense of relief. SO FUCK CRAFTS AND THE CATS THEY RODE IN ON.
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I started laughing at the capitalizations in “We covered IT ALL” and kept going through “I felt closer to her than to I do to Vim.”
Not indie enough? Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? What a weird criticism! That’s like saying you aren’t trying hard enough to be an individual – just like everyone else. Lame. You are an indie rock star. Indie rock stars don’t have to prove how indie they are, because they are content with who they are. Dick move, CG. Dick move.
Glad to hear you found a kindred spirit, though. Dash is actively giving me the f-u tail pointing at face manoeuvre as I type this. He may have spent too much time with nephew this aft… hence, the f-u.
I was thinking of our saying that unemployment meant the opportunity to properly train kittens…. as being stuck in bed with my ankles fucked up is improving Dyson’s upside-down training by leaps and bounds.
it’s is only because of my husband that i am not a crazy cat lady. only, how it goes is that i spend MONTHS talking him into getting a new cat or dog which he swears he is not ready for and then promptly falls in love with the new animal and they fall in love with him. he’s like a cranky dr. doolittle.
wait, this has nothing to do with what you were talking about.
sorry about the panic & crying. panic attacks suck, but i suppose crying at therapy = “progress”?
Oh my god, I think you, Tim, and the Crazy Cat Lady are my soul mates. I babbled on and on about my current cat and what she was presently doing for about 15 minutes to a male friend on the phone the other before I pardoned myself and apologized (he was not interested in the goings on of Gravy). But I don’t care! I want to talk incessantly about my kitties and their quirks! Also, I turned my husband into a cat person. He’d only ever had dogs and thought he didn’t care about cats, but when he goes out of town, which is often, he invariably sends me text messages that say things like “I miss the kitty.” and “What is the cat doing? Send pictures.”
carly, well, they were spot on about the flakey part… i would often forget to hit the publish button.
lela, we need to work it so that we all end up in the same nursing home. one that allows cats.
Let me ask you this, Laura. Do you feel a TINY bit of relief at having one more thing taken from your plate? It’s more than likely a good thing.
Additionally– I’m thinking positive thoughts for you. The panic attack/crying at therapy may be a good thing. No better place for it, right?
I’m raising a crazy cat boy. Max will love you if he ever gets to meet you. He hangs out with the barn cat at his school on recesses. He talks about our cats to anyone who will listen. He has lots of cat books too – Maru, Simon’s Cat, Angry Cat, Ugly Cat, LOL Cats, etc. Plus he talks about our dead cat quite often too. As though they were best friends.
Panic attacks suck. So does crying, actually. Back when I had health insurance and could see a therapist I cried in his office and instead of making me feel better it made me feel worse. It wasn’t his fault though. I hate anyone to see me cry. It makes me either lash out at them or hate myself a little more.