Crazy Like a Cat Lady

A few months ago, a lovely young lady called to inquire about pet care for her three cats. She had been invited to go on vacation with her extended family, but was worried about leaving town. She could hardly bear the thought of leaving her cats -- in fact, she had not gone away for the last eight years.

Whenever a potential client contacts me, the first order of business is to set up free initial consultation. I scheduled a meeting with the cat lady, and showed up at her apartment at the designated time.

All three cats greeted me at the door, meowing, purring and winding themselves around my ankles. I looked around at the bookshelves overflowing with ceramic cat figurines, decorative cat plates and framed studio photos of Muffy, Button, and Putz. A lovely hand-stitched pillow on the sofa read, "Never feed your cat anything that doesn't match the carpet." Clearly, a cat-lover extraordinaire resided here.

I spent the next hour reassuring her that I would take the best care of her cats imaginable. She insisted that I visit them three times a day, allowing each only a small handful of food per visit--to avoid any upset tummies. We went over the very long list of scheduled playtime activities, litter box scooping rules, and brushing and grooming requirements. I promised to contact her by cell phone twice a day to check in...once in the morning and once at night.

As we sat discussing all this at the kitchen table, the cats continued to rub on my legs, sniff my pants, and chew on my shoelaces. I was a hit! My eyes wandered around the room taking in the cat-themed dish towels, cat-shaped cookie jar and the hand painted sign that read, "Some people have cats and go on to lead normal lives."

All three cats were fluffy gray tabbies--one male and two females. I asked if they were siblings.

"I assume they are from the same litter," she said. "One day I was driving through the county park, and someone in the car in front of me threw a shipping box out the passenger window and drove off. When I stopped to investigate, I discovered three sickly little kittens inside. I vowed to raise them and give them the wonderful life they deserved."

It was hard to imagine such humble beginnings as I watched them pile into a thick, luxurious pet bed tucked into the corner of the kitchen. I smiled, thinking they sure had lucked out by landing in the lap of such a passionate cat lover.

Finally, she felt confident enough in my pet-sitting abilities to hire me. She finished up the paperwork, agreed to my fee, and handed over the house-key. One more bit of cat memorabilia caught my eye as I headed for the door. A framed poster in the foyer said, "I got rid of my husband. The cat was allergic."

Somehow I'm not surprised.