The other day, someone called Miss Crankypants a cat lady. A CRAZY cat lady. Talk about stating the obvious.Miss CP has been collecting cats since she was old enough to wander the neighborhood calling, “Here kitty kitty.” Her own mother claims that Miss Crank never met a stray she couldn’t bring home. So why has it taken decades for the “cat lady” label to fall on her august shoulders?
For one thing, everywhere you look there’s some fool making jokes about us crazy cat ladies. We’ve all seen the “Crazy Cat Lady Starter Kit” as well as the Barbie doll dressed up in a muu-muu, with cats perched all over her body. Hardy-har-har, people.
REAL Crazy Cat Ladies know the truth: We have a problem. One cat is NEVER enough. We need help. We need to lobby Washington for the right to collect as many cats as we can feed.
Crazy Cat Ladies, UNITE!
What? You don’t know if you’re one of us? OK. Here’s how to tell if you are one Crazy Cat Lady:
First, you must dress for the part.
While baggy housedresses or muu-muus are preferred, polyester pants in gaggy spring colors are also acceptable, especially when paired with a hideous flowery polyester blouse. Hideous SAS shoes optional. Your wardrobe choice should also be opposite the color of the cats most likely to jump into your lap and shed half their fur. Thus, for white or light-coated felines, always wear dark clothing. For black cats, white is a great option.
Second, all Crazy Cat Ladies know better than to disturb a sleeping cat.
If said kitty chooses to nap in the basket of clean laundry, you really have no choice but to go buy new sheets and towels. Mrs. Cat may be in there a while.Miss Crankypants hasn’t made her bed properly for years. There always seems to be a cat napping in the middle of it.
Third, a true cat lady always has room for one more.
Your son is moving to a no pets apartment? Congratulations! You now own his cat, a sickly parakeet and a smelly ferret.Your daughter couldn’t resist the cardboard box of kittens outside the grocery store? Better stock up on the cat chow, honey. And if a poor stray shows up on your doorstep? Start sleeping on the sofa–there’s no more real estate left on your California King.