Note: The following is the story I told at the Moth StorySlam in Minneapolis on August 21, 2019. The theme for that night was “Animals”.
Can you bear to hear one more cat story?
This is not so much a story about a cat, although it certainly does involve a cat (or two). No, this is a story about me, and my unlikely transformation into a “crazy cat lady”.
I grew up hating cats; actually, that hate was born of fear. My childhood friend, Joyce Jazinsky, and her family had 2 Siamese cats: Chloe and Clementine. Each time I would hold my hand to offer a little affection, someone in the family would invariably yell out, “Don’t pet the cat! She bites!” Which trained me very well to be afraid of cats, and to simply avoid cats. I certainly was never going to own a cat.
Then I had children. Soon the begging started: “Pleeeease, can we have a cat? We really need a cat. Pleeease!” over and over. My husband stayed in the background, not offering an opinion one way or the other. No, this campaign was aimed at Mom.
As with all things, they wore me down. I said, “OK, we can get a cat. But just so you know, I am afraid of cats, I do not like cats. I will not pet the cat or take care of the cat.” That settled it. We got our first kitty, whom we named “Patch” since he only had one eye (like he had a patch over one eye. Get it?).
I grew to love Patch. He was sweet, affectionate, and best of all: he didn’t bite.
In fact, I loved Patch so much that I thought we should get a second cat, to give him a buddy to play with. Again, my husband stayed silent on this idea. But even then, he seemed to be getting a sense of the crazy cat lady emerging.
That is when Finn entered my life. Finn was a super-cat. He was almost human. When I was brushing my teeth, and the water was running, Finn would hop up and take little sips out of the faucet. When he wanted to come outside (my cats are indoor cats), he would meow so insistently that I went to the pet store and bought him a little blue harness. I would bring him out, hitch him up, and he and I would enjoy the beautiful backyard sunshine together.
But the best and most amazing thing about Finn was that he taught himself to pee in the toilet! As in, you could be entering the bathroom to do your business, and there would be Finn sitting on the toilet. You would say, “Excuse me”, back out, and wait your turn.
And so began my transformation into crazy cat lady. Man, I adored that cat.
Then something went terribly wrong. For some unknown reason that only cats would understand, Patch and Finn started to fight. After living in harmony for 2 ½ years, they became enemies. Actually, Finn was the attacker, squatting behind every corner, waiting to pounce on poor unsuspecting Patch.
I may be crazy, but I am practical. Last cat in, first cat out. Despite my best efforts to teach these two to live peaceably, I had to give my Finny back to Feline Rescue! Which is what I did. It was as painful as it sounds.
A few days later, one of the staff members called me to say that a family was adopting Finn. I was overjoyed. I asked if I could write a letter to the family, telling them about Finn; the things he liked, the food he ate, and most importantly, that he could pee in the toilet! The staff member said that would be fine.
I wrote the letter, then hurried over to Feline Rescue to deliver it. The folks tending the cats said, “Would you like to see Finn?” I should have said “no”. Instead, I said an enthusiastic “yes”, and was shown into the large kitty lounging area, which was teeming with about a dozen cats. There, perched up above them all, on a tall kitty tower, sat my Finn, surveying his kingdom.
I went over and picked him up. He rubbed his face in my hands, and purred. I picked him up and sat in the chair, holding him and crying. As in, tears streaming down my cheeks. I could see the staff giving each other sideways glances, thinking, “Oh no, another crazy cat lady.” In my head, I said, “That’s it! I never should have given you up! I will find a way to make it work! I’m taking you home!” And precisely at that moment, Finn jumped down and walked away. He didn’t even look back.
I went home and told my husband about this. “Can you believe it? Finn didn’t even care!” Between bites, John, as always, unfazed, said, “Well, in the end, he is a cat.” Indeed. A cat is just a cat.
And me? Well, I am just a crazy cat lady.