I stare into his big green eyes. He's beaming at me in his flirty way.
"I love you," I say.
"Meow," he replies.
We repeat this pattern just about every night. He and his sister greet me at the door, he rushes to mark me with his paws, claiming me as his own. He is a beautiful black man and he cherishes me like no one else in this world. I just wish he didn't shed on the carpet so much.
Yes, I am a cat owner. And yes, I may talk in special voices and change the lyrics of songs to sing to my felines, but I do not believe this makes me crazy.
I really wish we could remove the stigma that comes with having cats. You never hear about "wild-eyed dog women" or "crazy cattle ladies." They don't make a "hamster-lovin' mama" action figure. No, all the insanity is saved for people who like cats. I don't get it.
Cats are awesome. They do their own thing, have their own agendas. They don't love you unconditionally the way dogs do—you have to earn their affection and respect. And that makes me respect them!
All that aside, I say it's about time we cut cat lovers a break because they're doing their stress levels some good. Having an animal in your home lowers your blood pressure, prevents loneliness—it can prolong your life. So really, we should be celebrating the proverbial crazy cat lady for being such a smart cookie!
Truth be told, I found a grey feline hair in my underwear last week. It was gross, but it made me laugh. Maybe that does make me insane. But I'm adding years to my life.