Even Crazier Cat Lady

A couple of weeks ago Dad told me an actual True Life Crazy Cat Lady Story. Because it’s True and involves the death of a lonely woman its quite sad, but it’s also fucking hilarious because it’s a Crazy Cat Lady Story.

Actually thinking about the True Life Crazy Cat Lady Story more recently, I've been finding it more and more depressing than funny. This is likely to be related to the two hour long lectures of psychometric tests and related statistics I've been studying and lack of social interaction with anyone apart from my parents and dog outside of facebook. Listening to Interpol and staring out of my rain streaked window also isn't helping. Anyway, here's the story:

My family friends had an elderly woman living down their street who had an unknown amount of cats. They knew there were a lot and that cardboard barriers had been added to the surrounding fence on the property to prevent the cats from escaping.

When the woman died and paramedics went in to collect her body, fifty two cats were found on the premises. The carpet was sodden with cat faeces and the place absolutely stank. She had a son but he had stopped visiting her several years ago because the house smelled so bad. The authorities think she may have been dead for a couple of days before the body was found, as the cats may have started to eat her due to the scratch and bite marks on her body and face.

Rumour has it that she left the small amount of money she had to a woman who have given her free coupons for cat food at the supermarket.

In late high school I had a life plan that I was going to be the kind of woman who would lounge around her huge, old fashioned, eclectic mansion (much like the house in My Summer of Love) all day wearing a silk dressing gown with a glass of hard liquor in one hand a cigarette in the other (I'd forgotten about this, actually. My seventeen year old self wasn't as clueless about real world possibilities as I thought).

My lovely friends, slightly missing the point, added in that I will have lots of cats and sit on my porch with a rifle shooting at nothing in particular. While I wouldn't necessarily be that surprised if I turn into a Crazy Cat Lady with various delusions, blurting out personal information to the bus driver (I would have lost my driver's license long, long ago due to several speeding infringements after believing "they're all following me!") and never wearing shoes. My three children from four failed marriages no longer visit because I'm just too difficult now and the neighbours on my street would steer clear of me as my unkempt hair would suggest a certain lack of personal hygiene that they would just rather not encounter, so I would be forced to seek company in a number of loyal and overfed cats. However, I actually don't like cats. At all, really. Particularly fat cats. Which I guess would make me an Even Crazier Cat Lady.