If I may offer one word of advice: Do not name the stray cat that has been bugging you, and you’ve been feeding, “Hitler.”
It offends people…
Especially at Target when you yell, “I need a huge bag of food to feed Hitler.”
My collection of cats is sadly growing. If you haven’t reevaluated your life, do it when you wake up to 5 cats outside your door. Everything falls into place and finally as in a personal growth triumph, you get out of the denial phase of being a crazy cat lady.
Oddly enough, the only thing that offended me from that name was the term lady. I’ve gotten to that point as well? A lady? I picture some hunchbacked prune in uptight clothing staring…for no reason at all. Just staring. This swarmed in my head as the cats stared at me. I saw my reflection and immediately tried to stand up straight.
My spine has gotten use to being lazy and now I try to tame it? I looked like a flat chested girl trying desperately to pop out her A’s on her chest. No people I am better than that…I am a B.
Walking upright with my B’s in the air I feed that collection that is supposed to fill any void in my life, right? This is why people get cats in the first place? What if they come to you, is that worse?
It’s hot as hell outside right now and I’m evaluating my life by Hitler’s standards, which is never a good sentence to think none the less say. Ants are crawling up on me to the point where I can’t kill them all by myself.
“Get them Hitler, kill them!”
Somehow even the cats knew it wasn’t a good move yelling this out.
I apologize to the air, like if anybody is listening.
I mean, “Hit-la…hit-la…not Hitler…it’s a female cat.”
It’s been a long, bad day for me and Hit-la.