A multi-level tower greets those
who come through my door. Toys made of
foil or fluff are strewn across my floor.
You might call me a crazy cat
lady.
I suppose I am one. And a bit of
a novice, too. While I’ve loved animals my whole life, I was certain I was a
dog person. Until two fuzzy feline sweethearts came into my life three years
ago. Two kitties -- a mother and daughter – who lived on the streets and needed
a human mommy.
It didn’t happen overnight. There
were many days when I admired them from afar. Then my husband and I tendered
some kitty treats, and a bond began to form.
We weren’t certain if either of
us had allergies. So we started out with the rule that we wouldn’t allow them
in the house beyond the front room. Then the rule quickly changed to “in the
house but not in the bedrooms.” That rule didn’t last long, either.
Now three years in, the only
forbidden zones are the cupboards containing household cleaners and the stove top.
(OK, the inside of the refrigerator is off limits, too.)
So why the change? How did I
become someone who never imagined being a cat mommy to a woman who does hours
of online research to find the best cat harness?
Perhaps it links back to my
disability. I developed severe rheumatoid arthritis back in grade school. The
disease quickly became a juggernaut of severe joint pain and destruction. It
has since resulted in two dozen major orthopedic surgeries, followed by months
of torturous rehabilitation.
Do you know what it’s like to
spend months on your back – your body aching from constantly maintaining the
same position -- forbidden to enjoy the simple luxury of rolling onto your
side?
I do. I know what it feels like
to lay in a pool of my own sweat collected under my lower back, unable to get
air against my skin to evaporate the moisture.
It may sound like a small thing,
something you could simply distract yourself from noticing. I assure you it is
not. Because when your whole world consists of you in a hospital bed, you
literally ache for the simple pleasures we often take for granted.
And I remember all of it: every
miserable detail, even the sleepless nights from 40 years ago. Nights and days
when I thought: “If only I could roll over for five minutes. If only I could lie
on soft sheets. If only I could have a few moments of relief from these aches
that never end.”
Perhaps that’s why – if you visit
my home – you’ll see comfy cushions and baby blankets throughout my house and soft
dish drying pads lying around my patio. I understand such things may label me a
crazy cat lady. I proudly cop to that label.
But don’t forget there’s more to
the story. That cushions and blankets and pads symbolize a reduction in suffering.
The reduction in suffering that tantalized but evaded a frightened young girl
in a hospital bed. The reduction in suffering that I am determined to provide
to my fur angels.
Am I a crazy cat lady? You’re
goddamn right I am.
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