Once upon a time (before it was confirmed that I was indeed going to try and be a crazy cat lady) we had no cats in the house. We'd always had a cat or two around, so this was kind of weird..to not have a cat in the house. Living in the country though, we always just wait for jerks from the city to come and drop boxes of kittens along the side of the road. Some make it to barns, or houses - but the reality is that most don't make it because they're SMALL DEFENSELESS KITTENS.
So one night around dusk I was outside when I heard this sad pitiful sound. Thinking that I was hearing things I carried on what I was doing, and the sound stopped. Then I moved to another area, and it started again. I was utterly confused. Eventually I got my Dad to come and help me try to figure out what was going on, and we found this cute little kitten, which I promptly decided was mine.
So I took him inside, named him Tucker and called dibs. End of story.
Okay - so you know that's not really the end of the story. Duh.
He was an adorable little tabby kitten and he played about the house, went out and caught mice and generally had a good time living the farm life.
One day though, he went out to play and hadn't come back yet...when someone knocked on the door.
A handful of neighbour kids had been biking up and down the country road when they heard meowing sadly at the end of our driveway. Stopping to investigate as neighbour kids do, they found a cute little tabby kitten. Because the cat was tame, and brought him up our driveway and asked if he was ours.
As luck would have it, it was our little tabby Tucker, who seemed to have gotten scared or hurt or just plain tuckered out. (Ha - Aren't I *HILARIOUS*? No? SHUDUP.) So I brought him inside, but something just wasn't right. Had he been scared by an animal? Was he hurt? I just couldn't tell, so I brought him into my room that night where he cried and cried and cried - something was definitely not right.
In the morning, I told my Dad that I was going to take him to the vet - he had been crying all night, and just not being himself - something was DEFINITELY wrong. I made sure he knew not to let the cat out of the house, and went about getting ready for my day.
A little while later my Dad was outside when low and behold - Tucker had made a grand escape - there he was, weaving through my Dad's legs, saying goodmorning like he always did. Seeming like his perfectly NORMAL self - not his lovely spazastic self from the night before.
Knowing I would be upset that he had managed to get out of the house when he wasn't quite right, my Dad scooped him up and carried him back to the house, admonishing him for being a sneaky cat who had gotten out of the house.
Only to walk back in the house and see Tucker still there. Meowing away. Acting not at all like himself.
..Because it turns out Tucker Number 2 was not so much Tucker. And not so much a boy. And REALLY REALLY REALLY needed to go pee but had NO IDEA where the litterbox was.
Yep. Turns out...my cat has impersonators.
(He's basically like Elvis. Yanno.)
And it ALSO turns out I'm really bad at being a crazy cat lady.
I've got the crazy down no problem, bu shit yo - I can't even tell my cats apart. What kind of crazy cat lady can't tell her cats apart...WHEN SHE ONLY HAS ONE?
Either I need a boyfriend, or they need classes for this cat lady shit...
..Because I'm turning out to be the most epic of epic fails and am almost convinced that I should go back to trying out dating again...because I'm so horrendous at being a crazy cat lady - which is just stupid..because WHO THE HELL FAILS AT BEING A CRAZY CAT LADY?
Crazy cat lady was like...my safety school of dating.
I'm so screwed.
Anyone know any nunneries numbers?
I need a new backup. Like whoa.