So it's official now. I'm a crazy cat lady. I suppose my craziness has always been questionable--it really depends on who you ask and on what day. But the title of Crazy Cat Lady is officially mine.
See, a while ago, a friend and I did some math (ooo, math) and we came to the conclusion that if a single person has more than three cats, they earn "crazy cat lady" status. If there are more people in a household with many cats, then the ownership can be spread out and thus, the craziness is spread out as well.
There are four cats here. And three people. Not so bad, right?
But Mother is away for work all week and Brother just started a new job so that leaves me home alone with four cats most of the time. And four cats most of the time means crazy cat lady most of the time.
(1 cat + 1 cat + 1 cat + 1 cat) ÷ (1 person + 1 person + 1 person) sometimes - (1 person + 1 person) = my head hurts. And I'm a crazy cat lady. With way too much time on her hands.
Does that fake math even make sense? I have no idea. But I did enjoy putting in the fancy divided-by sign. Bam.
Anyway. The cats! There are two new ones. Well, old. They are mature lady cats and do not take too kindly to new additions.
This is Samantha. Sammy for short. She is 13. When we first got her, we thought she was a boy, and she was named after Sammy Sosa, who I am told is a baseball player. We found out she was a girl and when I started watching Sex and the City, I re-named her Samantha Jones. I haven't told anyone else this. She likes yogurt and sitting on your shoulders. She seems to hate fluffy cats with majestic tails.
This is Smokey. The best way to describe Smokey is with this story: once, she was chasing a mouse through our hallway and she sat on it and couldn't find it. No, seriously. It's a true story. She sat. On a mouse. It managed to live, despite her tub--when I finally picked her up, the mouse ran away. Probably to tell the others about the retard cat living in our house. Smokey's favourite thing to do is roll around. And that's pretty much it.
Wesley Snipes, Esq and Boo Radley are trying to fit in. Wesley turned three yesterday. And now that he's a distinguished gentlecat, I see no reason why he can't get along with Samantha and Smokey. I mean, look at that lounging. Who wouldn't want to be friends with a lounger like that?
And Boo Radley. Well. He's still incredibly jumpy. If you move too suddenly, he'll go running for his life to the safe place: under my bed. But when he manages to calm down and relax (i.e. when Sammy and Smokey are outside and the door is closed and he's super certain nobody is getting up to open in any time soon, but he keeps an eye on it just in case someone does open it) he sprawls out and lounges.
And. Yeah. Only a true Crazy Cat Lady would devote an entire day to taking photographs of her cats and making a blog about it. But it's Labor Day and EVERYTHING is closed. Jeez. Don't judge me. At least, not to my face. Thanks.