Posted by: shellyweave | July 14, 2010

an unlikely cat lady

With some Sigur Rós playing in my ear, some incense burning in the background, and some low, moody, “this is how I imagine Poe, Whitman, and Neruda wrote” writers lighting– a red lighted lamp, and an elephant night-light I made at As You Wish– I sit down at my computer attempting to harness the powers of my favorite writers, hoping to recreate greatness. Now, I don’t truly expect to be as marvelous as the men who I look up to, but honestly some ghostly inspiration would be helpful. A little guidance would be nice, but since I have been sitting here for 10 minutes since I wrote the last sentence and no great epiphany has come to me, I’m guessing the great writers of the past are a little too busy to help me tonight. So, I will go with what I’ve got. Story telling magic.

It has been clear throughout my life, that I may just end up as that crazy cat lady who has a lot of eccentric stories to tell that contain no real plot line. Since I was young, my family has always had cats and I have always loved them (like most animals, but cats in particular). When I was little, instead of collecting rocks or teddy bears or anything of that sort, I collected kitty figurines. My mother and I would go out on Saturdays and scour garage sales, and small antique boutiques searching for the perfect next cat to add to my collection. It even got to the point where my family would gift me with small porcelain, metal, stone, insert material here, kittens. Keep in mind I was only around 6 or 7 when this obsession started. From there, my collection expanded to include blankets, drawings, ring stands, ornaments, jars. You name it, I most likely had one of those, but with a kitty plastered on it.

Now, several years ago, I attempted to reject my cat lady status by getting rid of most of  my figurines (also, entering Jr. High with cats all over your room sorta puts you at lower  than plankton on the popularity food chain), but a few of my memoirs still remain. I continue to sleep with my kitty blanket every night, and plan to until the day I die (sorry future husband if I do not actually follow my destiny and become a cat lady, you will have to live with my blanket sharing a bed with us). I still have a few things tucked away in drawers that I can look at from time to time, and I still very much love cats. I have even have Shelly snapping photos of me with kitty paraphernalia whenever we find it in a store.

The point of all of this cat rambling (see I’m already half way to eccentric stories with no plot behind them) can be summed up in one sentence: there is no point. Possibly only that when life points me in a direction I should leap at it not deny it. I’m not solely talking about the acceptance of my likely cat lady future, but also the things that life is pointing out to me right now, in the present (which will most likely be discussed at a later date).

Alright. This was basically just story time with Meghan, but I feel I got somewhere in my own head, even if I can’t really explain it through writing. Hopefully a look into my cat lady past can be entertaining if not anything else. At least I got to think about the oddity that was me as a child.

Also, I have never read An Unlikely Cat Lady, it was just another one of those objects Shelly and I shot with once. Maybe, by circumstance it is actually good. The kitty on the cover looks like my cat Jemima, who recently died. I hope she is in kitty heaven laughing at my cat lady ramblings tonight.

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