Do I Have to Be a 'Cat Lady' Already?

I've always thought that you had to be at least 70 years old to start becoming a "cat lady". Not that it's a requirement, but it just seems to be an age-related phenomena. Now I don't hold anything against "cat ladies"; in fact, they're usually quite generous and kindly, and harmless to others. But they're generally also not hip or hot or happening. But somehow, I seem to be unwittingly sliding into this "cat"-egory and I'm a couple of decades shy of 70.

I'm not an animal hater at all, but I'm not a typical animal lover who has a house full of assorted creatures. I guess I'm somewhere in between. But I can't stand to see an animal suffer, or in danger.

It started with an offer to keep an eye on one neighbor's cat while that family tended to a critically ill relative. My charge, Clyde, was a long-hair tabby about 13 years old, very sprightly for his age, loved the outdoors, and was not afraid of anything. He strutted about ruling with relish the couple of acres that cover our street and neighborhood. Woe be to the wayward stray who tried to muscle in on the territory. There are several other cats in the neighborhood and they all knew their "place" in the pecking order.

So the idea was for me to simply keep an eye out and try to get Clyde inside the house if he wasn't inside after dark. Now trying to get this cat (or any cat for that matter) to do anything against his will would be a fruitless foray into folly. Phooey!
But one day Clyde simply trotted into the house when one of us had the door open for groceries. He found his way to the most comfortable couch, hopped up and promptly took a nap. I didn't even realize he was in the house until someone else pointed it out to me. Then we started feeding him a few treats inside. Then we fed him his regular food and water inside. Then he started sleeping with me in my bed, eventually laying his head on my arm as he snuggled in for the night. Mostly, though, he napped on the back porch. So I went out and bought a litter box.

Unfortunately, the critically ill relative passed away, and the owners came and took Clyde back. They immediately moved out of the neighborhood. Bye bye Clyde.

Shortly thereafter we had a rainy spell and during one of the hardest downpours I spotted a small, black cat curled up under one of our eaves in the dirt. I recognized him as Shadow, a young cat that roamed the neighborhood day and night. Shadow is usually skittish and gives people a wide berth (he has no front claws). But I couldn't leave the poor animal out in the downpour. So I covered him with a small towel figuring he'd at least have some dryness and warmth. He didn't move.

The next day the rain stopped and I didn't see Shadow when I returned from my morning errands. However, as I approached my door and paused with it open to pull my key out of the lock, a streak of black whizzed by me into the house. Once inside I saw Shadow sitting in the kitchen looking at me, his bright yellow eyes staring out from his pitch black face. "You're a Halloween cat", I told him. I put a hand out and he let me scratch his ear. Then he went behind me - to the weeks-old kitty food in a dish I hadn't had the heart to get rid of yet from Clyde. He gobbled up all of it. Then he leisurely took stock of the house, went to the porch, hopped up on the couch and took a four-hour nap.

The next day Shadow was waiting for me when I returned at errands and "talked" to me as he approached. He walked up the stairs to the back door with me, assuming he wouldn't have to use guerrilla tactics this time. Sure enough, he ate a bit, then stretched out and snoozed away the afternoon. When he awoke he asked to go out and I obliged. What else could I do? So I have become a home away from home for another feline.

Maybe it's because no one is staying home baking cookies anymore, so the animals feel a loss like the neighborhood kids. Maybe it's because our house must have the least threatening aura in existence anywhere in the known universe. Maybe it's because the cats have been sent to keep an eye on me. I don't know. But there is something reassuring about a completely helpless animal putting its trust in you without so much as an interview. I must "smell" right. It's not from trying, honestly, and I think its doggone funny. Oops. Sorry - no dogs. But I have a feeling that Shadow is not the last of the cats to come my way.
Maybe I could be called a "Kitty" lady. Yeah. I guess that's okay.