Dear Wally 71 Cat Lady

Hotel Hair Ball

Dear Wally:
I have just been given two cats to take care of for an extended, undefined period of time. They belong to my new daughter in law (our relationship is still fragile) and they are normally NYC apartment dwellers. She and my son are off to Africa and need us to care for them. Does this make me a ‘cat lady’?
-Anonymous

Dear soon to be ‘cat lady’:
People give other people cats to ‘care for’ when they don’t like those people. Let’s discuss your legitimate concern about becoming a cat lady. The ‘cat lady’ is a noble, selfless lover of all things feline who has made what some might say is the ultimate sacrifice: She has exchanged a traditional life of interactive human relationships, hygiene and even sometimes the proper use of the English language itself for a house full of hairballs and decapitated mice. But cat ladies are now part of our cultural fabric, albeit the fabric we prefer to keep under the outerwear, and though often mocked, we must respect their sacrifice in the name of animal welfare. The question is, do you have what it takes to do this hard job? Let’s start with the end.
Usually when cat ladies pass away, the cats turn on them and devour them. When all’s said and done, as thanks for their life time of giving, they are consumed, ‘processed’ and then buried like O’Henry candy bars in the same kitty litter they used to change (or not change).
It’s a slippery slope to Cat Lady status, but that slope has to start somewhere. And it sounds like 2 cats on your doorstep is the ticket. I’m not trying to scare you but just to let you know how greasy and slick this path can be. Hypothetical scenario: A couple of cats are ‘left’ with you by a relative. That relative ‘moves’ to someplace like Africa (a likely story by the way) and promises to fetch Snowball and Mittens as soon as they return. (Look on your calendar for the 15th of Never, pal, and mark it). Let’s also say they sweeten the deal by saying they’ll cover the vet costs and food. Then they conveniently get caught up in packing and rushing for the flight and conveniently forget to hook you up with the few thousand dollars behind the promises. (I see this happen everyday!) Yet another unfunded mandate.
(By the way, telling the city cats they are either going on a ‘drive to the country’ or ‘going to spend some time on a relative’s farm upstate’ is mafia-speak for getting whacked. Don’t be surprised if Mittens jumps if you slam the door too hard.)
Anyway, the relative neglects to mention that Mittens and Snowballs (‘balls’? Plural? Oh boy…) screw like jackrabbits every night and haven’t had their plumbing ‘fixed.’ Before you know it, Mittens is in a family way. Reality check: You are now a cat lady. Not just a cat lady but soon to be a cat grandmother which is a whole other magnitude of cat lady. Sure the kittens will be cute and tug at your blinds. You will scratch their bellies and laughing, hold them up to the ceiling. They will claw playfully at the telephone cord attached to the phone you keep using to reach the full voice mail of relative who rightfully owns them.
Soon you are the night manager at the Hotel Hairball.
Before you know it, you have converted the 3rd floor of your house to a makeshift kitty play pen. You will have maxed out the good will of your husband by asking him to move his office downstairs (Him: what the F%#@??) and then make a jungle gym out of 2x4s for them (You: But honey, they’re soooo cute!)
One fateful day, one of the 15 cats misses the litter box and soon it’s chaos. The next day no one of the 60 cats is using it any longer and you pretty much have to staple up greenhouse grade plastic to keep the stench in. After 2 years (your husband has long since moved out and your friends are scarce) you decide to open up the 2nd floor. “Grand opening everyone! Come on down! Great Grandpa Snowballs who has sired you all will be wearing a tux and tap dancing!” After all, 200 incestuous cats need to stretch their 800 legs!
You still have the downstairs to yourself, except for the 15 or so cats who have brazenly figured out how to julienne the plastic with their razor sharp claws and get in. And so long as they don’t actually step in the lasagna pan (at least too much), it’s still ok by you.
You are not sure if you have early onset tinnitus or if it is just the incessant, maddening din of meow. The stereo can’t play Tom Jones loud enough! Life is good!
Or is it?
You can see where this is heading. You will be the grand matron of an appreciative feline dynasty (that is, before they turn on you). You will enjoy the spoils of a heavenly return on investment for your earthly sense of animal welfare once at Saint Peter’s great gates (which will have angelic purring cats coiling around them and sharpening their claws on the harp strings, no doubt). But it will cost you in the here and now.
So proceed cautiously with any more than 1 cat with reproductive capacity right now. And verify that your daughter in law has a legitimate (roundtrip) ticket to Timbuktu or wherever she claims to be going or you will become the cat lady you fear.
Hope this helped.

Got a question for our advice columnist or a spade, outdoor, female proven mouser who can sing and dance AND act for his new Off Broadway (by 100 miles) production about farm life? Contact him at cwn4@aol.com