99 Problems: Cat Lady

In the same vein as What I Learned, 99 Problems is where I tell you my…well…99 problems.

So random problem is I am an animal person. I like animals far more than people and while animals can be temperamental as fuck, they are also forgiving, understanding and bond with the people who care most for them. There’s a bodega near me with two cats, a fat handsome son of a bitch named Mickey and a recently adopted (see, rescued) white tabby I’ve named Bingbong. (I don’t know if he’s got a name but he looks like a Bingbong) Bingbong lives in the bodega and has bonded with one of the guys who works there, super cutely I may add because he plays with Bingbong instead of working. In any case, because I am a fan of Bodega Cats of Instagram I like taking pictures of the little weirdos as they do their cat thing.

This is Bingbong

This is Mickey

This morning I was walking to the train and saw Bingbong a little too far out for my cat momma taste. He was off in a corner away from the bodega entrance and staring off into kitten space. People are savages in my neighborhood. Another cat named Nancy, who lived in the West Indian deli next to me went missing a few days after Halloween. They have a new cat named Frank (I think they’re Sinatra fans) who’s basically under lock and key now. So I worried about Bingbong because he darted out to chase some pigeons.

Super adorable because he’s tiny.

Anxiety inducing because he’s tiny.

I stare at him for a few minutes, debating what I should do in this situation because I’m heading to work and he’s not my cat.

He’s laying in the gutter, his little cat butt wiggling while he’s trying to sneak up on the pigeons.

Traffic is gearing up to move, the cars inching forward because cabbies can’t fucking wait to race to the next red light. Where Bingbong is laying is a right in the bus lane and guess what’s coming. I know he’s not paying attention and I know these bastards don’t care so I pick him up, keep him at arms length and carry him back into the bodega. “Keep your little ass in the store, cat.” After dropping off the little scoundrel, I head into the train station like I didn’t just run in screaming “PROTECT ALL THE HAIRY BABIES 2K15” and lock him in a box. I drop about a quarter bottle of anti bacterial hand sanitizer on my hands and then wash them again when I get to work. It’s not that I think he’s got mites or fleas or general unkempt cat issues, I’m just severely allergic to cats.

I am the mother for four.

I felt really good doing it too. Go figure. If I could save all the babies, I would.

I guess that’s where I have cat lady problems.


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