Crazy, yes. Cat lady, no.

I recently discovered something about myself: I am NOT crazy cat lady material.

That’s not because I don’t want to dress animals up in clothes (I have a yen to dress up my horse like Bad Horse from Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog). Nor is it because I don’t talk to things that don’t speak English in odd tones – sometimes I pretend I have a really bad Russian accent (as opposed to the good one I do have?), but I NEVER do baby talk – not even to babies. Yet, despite all these things, as it turns out, I’m not a cat person. Who knew?

A few weeks ago I did a foster to adopt program on a lovely cat named Jax. And before you ask, no I did not pick him because of the positive name association to a certain blonde, tattooed biker who shall remain nameless… (Ok it’s Jax from Sons Of Anarchy! Don’t watch the show but damn he’s fine.) Jax is an adorable, affectionate, easy to medicate, young black male – everything you could possibly want to ward off any potential loneliness while being single and living alone.

So, I brought Jax home, we cuddled on the couch for a few minutes but then I was done. I wanted to focus my attention solely on Scrubs. Never mind the fact that the show was cancelled several years ago or that I’ve watched it, beginning to end, several thousand times. The comedic genius of Bill Lawrence deserves my undivided attention, does it not?

Jax felt it did not.

Maybe this makes  me a selfish person, but at that moment (and several other more legit moments wherein I panicked under the enormity of potentially having to pay vet bills on another animal – not that the cat was unhealthy, but that just seems to be my luck) I realized I was not prepared to put the needs of yet another living creature before mine (nor am I ready to make another potentially twenty year commitment to an animal). At least my horse has the good sense to not interrupt me while I’m being charmed by the goofy awkwardness that is Zach Braff.

Not to mention the undercurrent of tension as Jax watched me eat a bowl of ice cream, silently judging me. I know he was thinking, “Bitch, there ain’t no ice cream eating while on a diet! The fuck you thinking?” Judgey little bastard…

So Jax went back to the shelter, which I do feel bad about, I really do want him to find a good home! Just not mine. I might try the whole cat lady thing again in like ten or twenty years, but for now, I like to be alone with my ice cream and Scrubs.

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2 thoughts on “Crazy, yes. Cat lady, no.

  1. Shelters around me are funny about that sort of thing. They black list people who bring their animals back, no matter how fucked they might be. I got thrown from a horse in 4th grade. The horse’s name was (I’m sure she’s dead now, right?) Sugarcane. Nicest horse in the stable they said. She bucked my ass off and ran back to the stable and all the stable hands had a good laugh at me for coming back without a horse. Suffice to say, I don’t trust horses. They’re beautiful, but evil. Except for Clydesdales. They sell beer and are awesome.

    • I imagine shelters here would do that as well – and I wouldn’t blame them. But at least with doing the foster thing first you get a chance to see if that particular animal will fit into your life. In all honesty this cat wanted more attention than I could give it simply because I’m not home a lot.

      So many people have horse stories like that lol I love riding, could never live without it. There’s just something so amazing about being in control of a 1500 pound animal. It’s addicting, like crack.

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