I'm a crazy cat lady. It's true. At the first worry I'll ensure my fiance and I are broke in order to know that Mademoiselle Fluffypants is ok. I was really worried about said Fluffypants, Coco, and yes, it turns out, she is ok. It seems she's got allergies, so really she fits right in here. This does mean no investigating outside, which she is none too impressed about. (The neighbourhood mice, however, will be leaving floral gifts by the door.) Keeping her in after dark was tricky enough. Now she's taken to sulking. But she certainly seems much happier now. Apart from the sulks.
The worry I feel over my fur baby does make me wonder how parents cope. I had a cry because my Coco had lost fur. What about a common injury of childhood? Arm set in plaster, for example? Or chicken pox? At what point will my mind go from being crazy cat lady into a responsible, calm adult? Does it never happen, and people are just good with the facades?
Image: Creative Commons.
Comedian Violet Carlson c1930. (Who was probably not a crazy cat lady.)
The Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales
Via Flickr. Optical edits mine.