Warning: Cat Lady.
18 months ago I visited the Hobart Cat Centre, and went home with a cat.
I had every intention of leaving with a cat, but I hadn’t anticipated all that this entailed. Entering the cat centre I believed I would leave with a pet much like my goldfish but with fur. My new cat would be an unobtrusive creature who would entertain me at my whim, possibly demanding to be fed occasionally, when it wasn’t curled up angelically in my lap.
Upon entering the Centre, I rushed past the kitten room, concerned that admission would result in me leaving with not one but ten cats, and began to explore the adult cat areas. I introduced myself to each cat one at a time, making wild, uninformed judgements about their personality based on the way they sniffed my hand. Personalities aside, I discovered I loved them all. I was surrounded by furry love. Warm and cuddly love. The love of which bards had written for centuries. Except better. It was cat love.
After I’d chosen about 13 cats that I absolutely couldn’t live without, I found myself wandering from room to room in desperate love sick confusion. As I began to leave one room, however, I felt two tiny fluffy paws clasp my hand, and I looked behind me to find a small black cat starring up at me. His ploy was a success and I immediately adopted the small black fluff ball, convinced that he’d “chosen” me.
I became a serious, no holds barred, crazy cat lady in approximately 0.2 days, which is also about how long it took for me to discover that I’d adopted no ordinary cat.
I soon found that he was generally unable to retract his claws. He frequently peed in his own bed. He found landing on all fours nearly impossible (though he successfully jumped off the couch yesterday to raucous cheers and celebratory cake). And he was dreadfully, terribly, inexplicably terrified of coke cans and deodorant bottles.
I’m sure it will come as no surprise that his idiosyncrasies only made me love him all the more. My awesome freak of a cat.
18 months, many, many, many, many trips to the vet, and a diagnosis of some kind of kitty developmental disorder later, and I pretty much think my cat is the best in the world. Not that it’s a competition, except that it is, and he wins, every time. Call me a crazy cat lady if you will, I wear the label with pride, along with that ever present layer of fur that never ever seems to wash off.
There is, surprisingly, a point to this post. Two, in fact.
Point, the first:
Because I was feeling completely overtired and exhausted by the workload of my current existence, I decided it was the perfect time to help my cat start his own blog. All opinions contained therein are those of my cat. I am merely his administrative slave. The blog is called MewCatCat and you can find it here:
It will have very little writing as my cat cannot write, because he is a cat, though you may find his illustrations superior to my own.
Point, the Second:
The Hobart Cat Centre has just released its 2013 calendar and my kitty is one of the stars. The calendar is always lovely, only $10, and, obviously, it is for a very good cause. If you are in Hobart you can buy a copy at the Hobart Cat Centre, as well as these alternative outlets, as of next week. Those of you outside Hobart (and I know this is most of you), you can order a copy if you contact the Cat Centre via email ( info[at]hobartcatcentre[dot]com[dot]au ) and cover the shipping costs. Do it! You know you want one!!
To tempt you, here is a random picture of my kitty-cat the day I brought him home: