Last week I started volunteering at a cat shelter called the Tree House Humane Society. It's in Uptown in the city, not far from where I live. I call it the Cat House, because it makes me think of that brothel on HBO. The shelter is no kill, no cage, so it's basically just a big house with cats running around in every room, aka My Dream House. They take in only stray cats and specialize in injured and sick cats. I've been twice so far and each time I've been put on laundry duty, washing kitty diapers, as my mom thinks. The volunteers are required to spend half their time doing chores and the other half "socializing" with the cats. So I just wander from room to room, like totally overstimulated, just saying "Cats, cats, cats..." over and over again. On Saturday I spent some time in the FIV room, and as soon as I sat down on the floor I had a cat in my lap and was surrounded by four other cats. I love it. It's a relief to spend time with cats. I'm so not a people person, so dealing with people and, like, talking to them at work all week is exhausting. The cats don't really ask for much. Oh my god, I'm on the cat lady train to crazytown.
I did meet another volunteer this weekend and spent some time talking to him in one of the cat rooms. We bonded when I asked him what his cats' names are and he said he named them Joan and Bette after watching a movie about two sisters. I was all, "Let me stop you there, cat man. By any chance was this movie Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?" and he was all, "Why yes it was" and I was all, "Um, yeah, you're not straight, are you" and he was all, "Cats are my life." Okay, only half of that happened, but I liked him because he was quiet and nice and seemed to really be into the cats, like even more so than me, so I didn't feel so crazy after that.
But I think I saw my future a couple weeks ago at the volunteer orientation. There was this woman there... She wore a sweatshirt with a picture of a cat on it, probably her cat, and had, like, long somewhat unkempt cat lady hair with bangs. And she carried a backpack. I swear to god she was the inspiration for Rachel Dratch's cat wrangler character on 30 Rock. And when I looked at her I saw myself in twenty years. And, people, I did not resist it.
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4 comments:
Was this lady's name Mrs. Efrusy?
It's good you've made peace with the truth Erin. It's all smooth sailing now.
Pattiz says: If I woke up one morning and told you I had just had THE MOST HORRIBLE NIGHTMARE EVER, it would be me in the place of you in that story. My heart is racing and my skin is clammy just thinking about it.
This is why I'm a dog person.
Yes, I give him Shiatsu massages, sing him to sleep and have been known, on occasion, to spoon with him in his doggie bed when I sense he's a bit depressed; however, my hair is neat and tidy with no bangs and I never wear tacky sweatshirts (not counting the ones with my dog and me photoshopped on top of a wedding cake).
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