Crazy Cat Lady

I have become one of those people...

Crazy cat lady. He said it kindly, as a term of endearment while looking at Lolli and Api lying on top of the kitchen cupboard. Their favorite spot. Earlier I had asked him to come over and help me get Puk out of the rain gutter where she had been sitting and yelling for hours. 

Oh my God I thought. I am in my forties, single, and I have three cats. And I can’t swear hand on heart that there won’t  be more. Puk had joined the family after I went to buy a water melon, the siblings were added after a trip to Timisoara. My friend there is a fervent pet rescuer. Yesterday she said: I have over forty pet names on my fridge. I am running out of space. Regular people would say, stop rescuing. Extraordinary people say: I need a bigger fridge. 

“You know what you need?” Mr Hennie said. “A pet”. 

I have always loved pets. Guinea pigs, hamsters and rabbits, rescue birds and kittens. They have always been welcome. After leaving home I went through an extended pet free phase. That ended when I took a job at the cake shop, de Taart van M’n Tante. One of my colleagues Mr Hennie fostered both pets and people. One of his foster children had recently returned home where she commenced curating a collection of pets. Mr Hennie appreciated this at first but soon realized an intervention was in order. I had just moved into a new apartment that had a small garden. “You know what you need?” Mr Hennie said. “A pet”. 

When my mum came to visit me we drove to the flat where the foster kid lived. It was like entering a very compact indoor zoo. Cages and baskets and feeding bowls everywhere. You had to be careful not to trip. The first pet to be redistributed was Nigel. I loved the name and as soon as I saw him I loved him too. He was a French floppy eared bunny in magical colours, ranging from a yellowy beige to dark grey. 

I took him home where I taught him not to chew on anything inedible like wires and cables. Once he understood that I always left his cage open, so he could come and go as he pleased. He would sit under my chair while I wrote, he would follow me into the kitchen when to watch me cook, and when I lay in bed at night reading he would hop on the bed and lie with me. He was named after the soccer player Nigel de Jong but I made other stuff up. And I of course often sang his personal song: making plans for Nigel by XTC. I also took his photo and turned it into a T shirt print (I still insist that Paul Smith stole this idea from me). 

If I ever wanted to go somewhere I wasn’t short of babysitting offers. My cousin and best friends lived opposite each other with their gardens in the middle. They made an opening so Nigel could go backwards and forwards. They even tried to find someone with a female bunny for Nigel to have a family with. They all wanted a little Nigel. 

For various reasons I wanted to leave Amsterdam and travel more, so I asked my cousin if he would want to take Nigel in permanently. His daughter asked me: if Nigel stays with us is that temporary or forever. I answered forever. Good she said. They I want to do it. If it had been temporary then I would have said no. My cousin and his family had lived in new Zeeland for a while. Coming back to the Netherlands they had left their pet rabbit behind. Saying goodbye to a rabbit was not an experience the kid was willing to repeat. 

I think these days the only way you could pry away my pets is if I have to go into hospital or to my grave. I can’t imagine life without them. Even though it isn’t always “fun”. I get extremely stressed out when they get sick or injured. I don’t like trips to the vet at all but stay calm for their sake. There have also been a few pet related hospital trips for myself. When I tried to break up a fight between Stella and chocolate and the neighbours dog I got bitten. When I tried to help Lollipop down from a sticky spot she scratched my eye and almost blinded me. When I climbed up a tree to get Puk out a dog bit me when I got back down. 

Her boss says: “Don’t do that. That’s insulting to people who have actual babies.” 

I was watching Emily in Paris. I am not sure why but I guess I ran out of more interesting and original ways to procrastinate. When working on a pet food account Emily calls the pets babies. Her boss says: “Don’t do that. That’s insulting to people who have actual babies.” 

Oh I thought. I have not only become a cat lady, I have become one of those people who refer to pets as babies. I could argue my defence that in the case of the magic four (the puppies) that they were babies. Fur babies but babies. I watched them being born. I have tonnes of photos on my phone with my pets. Videos too. I have become one of those.