Disturbing Realizations

I like to think of myself as a fairly well-rounded person. I have great friends, a good family, a solid social life, and a legitimate set of interests, goals, and priorities. Why, then, was I so frightened a month or so ago, when one of my friends identified a surprising truth about my life: I had at least crossed into phase three of the ten-step process of becoming a cat lady. Yes, a cat lady.

Though everyone has heard of such a person, it is a gray area as to what actually constitutes a cat lady. Is there a minimum number of cats one might need to own? Is there a lower bound of social interaction? Must the male sex had to have given up on the woman in question entirely for the title to set in? Ok, so I wasn't anywhere close to having to ask these questions yet, but upon closer examination of my life, I came to the conclusion that this wise, albeit insulting, friend did have a point.

As a child, I grew up with many pets - Horses, dogs, hamsters, goldfish, gerbils, and of course, many cats - and have always loved them. My family still has two cats at home, Bentley(who might be more accurately classified as a dog given his overall size and behavior patterns) and the invincible Prince(survivor of being impaled by a combine earlier this year, but that is not important here), but my regard towards them has never put me anywhere near the cat lady line....And then Guinness entered my life.

Since then, as my friend pointed out, certain events have transpired and behaviors have been undertaken on my part that would prompt almost anyone on the outside looking in to question my cat lady-ness. So now it is up to you, blog readers to decide: how bad is it?

The sad truths are as follows.: (Please feel free to laugh at my expense)

- Guinness has his own bedroom. Yes, I pay rent for a two-bedroom apartment each and every month all by myself for very few legitimate reasons. In his room, he has a futon, a mattress, a jungle gym, 3 scratching posts, 4 cat beds, a tunnel, a stool, 3 food bowls, a Guinness-proof watering system(you would understand if you ever saw him paying in a sink or any sort of puddle-like accumulation of liquid), and a liter box secluded in his own walk-in closet. Guests at my apartment even often refer to the second bathroom situated closest to his room as "Guinness's bathroom". It's bad.

- The contents of my coat closet include the following: a Northface, a Patagonia, a red pea coat, a charcoal pea coat, a black formal long coat, a white trench coat, a windbreaker, and a pet-sized biker jacket with metallic studs. Oh yes. Unfortunately, due to the lack of quality of pleather used, though Guinness almost fills out the awesome little coat, he can't really move in it. the last time he donned it for April's and my amusement, he slowly tipped over off of his perch of badassness and had to be rescued from where he laid, face-down on my futon in his rockstar threads. While impractical, its tough to mess with the concept of a kitten in a leather jacket. It especially looks chic over his jersey that he wears during Detroit games. It kind of clashes with his holiday t-shirt, but that's not important.

- Guinness has Facebook. He doesn't have opposable thumbs, but he has a full profile, and frequently writes on his friends' walls. He was even in a relationship there for a while...with a human. If it's Facebook official, you know it's serious.

- Guinness is the background on my Blackberry. I show it to strangers at bars. OH MY GOD. The cat lady realization is really sinking in now.

- The other night I decided to give Guinness a bath. Because he needs to be beautiful, I chose to suds him up with Victoria's Secret Strawberries and Champagne body wash. After rinsing and toweling him off in his own bath towel, I blow dried him. That's right, folks: I blow dried my cat. So pretty smelling, so puffy.

- I make entirely too many jokes to people about my "bossy roommate" who never wants to hang out, and gets so pissed when I bring over friends at night. I mean, how many times can I fake "check" with Guinness to see if it is ok to have a party? It was never funny. It still isn't. I'm sorry to all those who have witnessed it.

- Guinness has a kitty harness. I take him for walks. Correction: I take him outside in his kitty harness and he sits down.

- I cannot count on one hand how many times I have tried to trick him into drinking his namesake. His refusing to do so has been my greatest regret. I get more joy out of thinking of ways for Guinness to drink Guinness without noticing than I have gotten from half of the parties I have attended in my life.

...I could continue, but I think I have embarrassed myself enough. So there it is, guys. I may not be a social outcast yet, but one thing is certain: I need help or we all know where I will be come my 20 year reunion.

P.S. Guinness, if you are online updating your Facebook profile or watching "Kittens inspired by Kittens" again and you stumble upon this post, this is not your fault. I love you.