Today is National Cat Day -- established 10 years ago to encourage the rescue and adoption of shelter cats. While I didn’t realize it at the time, it’s probably no coincidence that the holiday also falls on the eighth anniversary of my becoming a cat owner.
This week eight years ago I received an email from a colleague who knew just enough about me for her to know that I’d be a prime target for her message’s contents. It was a photo of a cardboard box filled with tiny black and white kittens. Under the photo in an oversized, bold font it read: “If these kittens are not adopted before Friday, they will be killed.” Instructions on how to go about adopting them followed. It was aggressive, harsh and extremely effective. I was guilt-ridden and within 24 hours I was online filling out adoption forms.
After enduring a rigorous screening process that included a personality quiz, reference checks, and a responsible co-signer (it was much simpler to obtain a mortgage), I was deemed adoption-worthy and sent to a foster home in Lynnfield where the photogenic kittens were waiting for me to take my pick of the litter. I felt like I was about to save the world – one kitten at a time.
While I had always considered myself somewhat of an “animal person” I never imagined myself as one day becoming a cat lady. However, that changed after I left that house with not one, but two, kittens. “David Ortiz” and “Mikey Lowell” (in full disclosure, their pre-adoption names were Heather and Ivy, but I adopted the girls one day after the Red Sox clinched the 2007 World Series in a four-game sweep; hence, they were immediately renamed after my two favorite players).
My “Red Sox cats” are not all that affectionate or even very friendly, but through the years David and Mikey have stuck by my side. They’ve sat beside me on the couch through countless Law & Order reruns; made the journey from an apartment into my first house; stared blankly at me as I cried my way through tough breakups (the hardest being Manny Ramirez’s 2008 trade to the Dodgers); sat impatiently by my feet at most every meal hoping I’d drop a bite of food onto the kitchen floor; and lunged at me for absolutely no reason.
If I really thought about it, there is probably a pretty long list of activities David, Mikey and I have experienced since that fateful adoption day in 2007. However, there is something that we’ve never done, and will absolutely never do. The cats and I will never venture out in public together because as house pets I keep them exactly where they belong: in the house.
As a 40-year-old, career-oriented, single woman with no kids, I know that I nicely fit a stereotype of someone who might be inclined to dress up David and Mikey in matching outfits and stuff them into my oversized handbag to go mall walking or to Starbucks for nonfat pumpkin spice lattes. But, this crazy cat lady strongly feels that most public places should be deemed human-only and animals positively (or better yet: pawsitively) should not be allowed.
This is not a cat-lady assault on dog-lovers (though you are typically the biggest offenders). I'm also shouting out to owners of cats, birds, reptiles, rabbits, rodents and any animal that requires a leash, cage or bowl that is considered a house pet, farm animal, belongs in a zoo, or is on an endangered-species list. As cute, lovable and well-behaved as your pet may be, not everyone (especially me) welcomes being approached, sniffed or even eyeballed by a strange animal while running errands, shopping, or enjoying a meal.
Think I'm going a bit overboard? Over the course of just the last several weeks I’ve encountered a cockatiel on the shoulder of a supermarket shopper; a boa constrictor tightly wrapped around its owner while walking down a busy city street (I quickly crossed to avoid being swallowed whole); and countless dogs of various breeds and sizes both leashed and roaming freely in retail stores, food serving/selling establishments, and other places of business -- including an overly curious Yorkie that has twice now come dangerously close to smudging my freshly-painted pedicure because "Lucy's" owner protects her own manicure while allowing her dog to explore the nail salon and sniff the feet of other patrons.
So from this animal lover who has a penchant for perfectly-painted toes and fur-free shopping trips to many other animal-loving pet owners, I plead: If it isn’t a certified service animal, please consider leaving it at home and out of our human-only places. You’ll be helping to make the world a better place – one animal-less experience at a time.
With all this said, there is one exception I might be willing to make. If the Red Sox should happen to be playing in the World Series, I couldn’t think of a more fitting way of celebrating the 11th annual National Cat Day than taking in a game at Fenway Park with David and Mikey hidden in my handbag.
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