Why Call Me A Cat Lady?

You stop and pet the feral cat that meows next to your purple leggings. You laugh at a joke a little too hard and soda comes out of your nose, stinging. You have more than one dress that’s an animal print, literally full animals like cheetahs or penguins. You sleep with cold cream on, you drive a certified “mom” car, you have a stash of Band-Aids under your bed and you’re more apt to go grocery shopping and bake a desert than get wasted and throw yourself at a frat boy. You may very well never have had a definition boyfriend, and that one mothball smelling aunt always sidles up to you at family functions and asks why you’re so far from getting engaged.

 

You’re a cat lady.

 

You wear ratty old sweaters over dresses and hang out with more animals than you do people and your texts are intermittently punctuated with cat emojis. And you know what? That’s fucking okay. It’s okay. Being a “cat lady” doesn’t mean you’re going to die alone in a moth-eaten wool sweater, surrounded by tins of open cat food, alone. Sure, the actual “definition” – in a light sense – of a cat lady is someone who won’t get married or have kids. They’re going to live their entire life at the beck and call of cats. 

 

If that’s what you want, go right ahead. I’m just here to say that being a cat lady shouldn’t have such a negative connotation. It shouldn’t have the aura of “forever alone.” Just because you prefer cats to dogs – yes those people exist – doesn’t mean you’re a certified cat lady. If you prefer to spend your weekends watching Netflix in your room to going out, getting shit faced and hooking up with a string of barely differentiable boys, doesn’t mean that you’re bound to end up alone. 

 

It doesn’t mean that one day you’re going to find someone who likes the fact that your wardrobe is like a librarians, that your hair isn’t always done, your skirts aren’t always tight, and that your cultural references are more 90’s themed than anything. Society is so apt and ready to judge. Judge people for what they’ve said, what they’re wearing, how they act. Take it all at face value. And I’m the first person in line to say that judging is inevitability. You can’t just not judge someone. That’s an idiotic way to think, because it’s impossible. “Oh I don’t judge.” Bull. You look at someone and decide if they’re attractive within a minute. A second. You judge them. You just don’t say it aloud. 

 

So what if you like cats. Hi, they’re cuddly and adorable and they purr and make friends with you without jumping and slobbering on your body like a dog. So what if you want to drink wine alone in your room on a Saturday night instead of strutting around with a mini skirt on in an endless parade of frat lounge to frat lounge. Who am I to judge you? Who am I not to judge you?

 

All I’m saying is this: it’s okay. Don’t let someone tell you that just because you like certain things means you’re destined to be alone. Just because you like cats and old sweaters and wine doesn’t mean you’re going to die in a tunnel of hoarder-esque proportions. 

 

Cat Ladies for the win.