So, I am a single lady, childless, in my late thirties, and I have three cats. I have always loved cats. For some reason, this has also always been my identifier: this is Vuure, she loves cats. Yet I always strongly objected to the 'crazy cat lady' moniker; Not a big fan of items that have cat pictures on them, strong dislike of cat hair anywhere but on cats, will not ever call my cats my babies or me their mom, not thát eccentric imo, pretty okay social life if you ask me, etc etc.
Yesterday my 9yo nephew calls me out of the blue. He doesn't usually care much for calling, not like his 5 yo sister(who's a real chatterbox). First thing he asks: hi aunt Vuure, how are your cats? -I answer, and ask about him and his reason for calling - Nothing, just wanted to know about your cats. One is probably on your lap right now, right?
...
Okay fine. I'm a crazy cat lady. People know me as crazy cat lady. My own flesh and blood cannot see me as anything but a (crazy) cat lady. My gravestone will probably read something like 'here lies Vuure, she loved cats. I will stop resisting, and embrace the image fully. Brb, googling to find a cute cat sweater now.
