To begin with, I want my audience to be aware that I am not a “crazy cat lady” by any means. In fact, I believe that owning more than two cats is a little excessive (no offense to anyone who owns more).
Although I don’t plan on hoarding cats once I hit my 30s, I know that my love for these four-legged companions will persist indefinitely. When I was younger, however, this was not the case. I thought that cats were demonic entities shrouded by layers and layers of fur. I didn’t like cats whatsoever, and I assumed the feeling was mutual.
During my junior year of high school, I gradually inched away from my hatred and had a change of heart. I signed up to volunteer at a local cat shelter. I had thoroughly avoided cats for several years, so I decided that it was a logical choice to give them a second chance.
Ideally, I would have been assigned to the adoptable house where perfect, litter box trained cats roamed freely. Instead, I was assigned to the special needs house. To clarify, a feline under the special needs category has a condition that renders it unadoptable. In detail, some cats had feline leukemia, some were feral and some couldn’t control their bladders, among other conditions. To be blunt, I was completely unprepared for the experiences I would encounter.
Within the first two weeks, I had swept more floors, scooped more litter boxes and cleaned up more cat urine than a mere mortal could tolerate. When my mom picked me up, she would crinkle her nose at the scent of eau de litter box emanating from my clothing. I didn’t mind at all. Every Saturday, I was ecstatic to wake up and visit all 106 of my new imperfect feline friends. When I scooped litter boxes or engaged in other undesirable tasks, there were always two or three cats ready to rub against my leg or sit in my lap when they had the opportunity.
Eventually, the shelter became a place of solace for me. These affectionate creatures helped me escape the stress of extracurriculars, school work and family matters that sometimes left me utterly disoriented. Although I was greeted by anarchy when I walked through the door, I left with a sense of fulfillment.
As a result of my experiences, my adoration for cats has blossomed to the point where it’s almost unhealthy. In the future, I can guarantee that there will be a cat or two waiting for me at home. And who knows, maybe I will start to display the symptoms of crazy cat lady syndrome.
