Pussy Problems: How a Kitty Taught This Crazy Cat Lady a Thing or Two About Guilt and Doing the Right Thing

I don’t know about y’all, but I’ve got a serious case of pussy in my pussy…

(Good Lord, no, I am NOT referring to anything sexual – get your head out of the gutter.)

Let me explain…

I recently adopted a gray domestic shorthair kitty and he enjoys napping in my crotch. (He doesn’t even move when I fart – now THAT’S true love…) He was only about five weeks old when my boyfriend found him getting beat up by a buncha older cats outside the post office. 

Now: I lost my BFFE (Best Feline Friend Ever) about two months ago. Shmoopy was more than a best friend. She was more than a furry companion that made me laugh (oh but make me laugh she did…). You see, most cats love their owners, will show them some affection here and there, and then go about their day.

But with Shmoopy…

I was her day.

She loved me more than I deserved. She was loyal to a fault. She protected me from piggy men. She did anything and everything she could to cuddle with me (even in a dinky studio apartment that got crazy hot in the summer). She’d even sleep back-to-back with me in bed…

She was a sister, a mother, a bff, and most certainly my guardian angel.

And she was the first cat that was ever MINE. (I.e. not my family’s, not my aunt’s, etc.)

Losing her was one of the worst pains I’ve ever felt.

I remember cradling the box my mom let me bury her in (it had pretty birds all over it). I can’t explain it, but I KNEW she was trying to tell me something. She NEEDED me to do SOMETHING, but I didn’t know what…

(I’m officially crying now, so I’m going to move on in my story…)

As you can imagine, I was not ready for another cat anytime soon. In fact, I wasn’t planning on ever getting another cat ever.

Cue Mogley…

When my boyfriend told me he had found an abandoned kitty, I was very hesitant to meet him. But then he sent me a picture of the little guy…

He was almost identical to Shmoopy’s breed and coloring.

You’d think that would have been a deal breaker. Like, “Uh, yeah, that’s just going to stir up some very sad feelings and I’m crying and bawling and get away from me you sinful reminder…”

But it was quite the opposite… In fact, I took the uncanny resemblance as a sign from Shmoopy herself that I had to meet the little dude.

And meet him I did…

When I first saw my boyfriend carrying the tiny handful of fur over to me, I almost burst into tears. I took his tiny body in my arms and he fell asleep almost immediately. He was so frail and dirty, and he had a buncha gunk in his eyes from an eye infection.

I decided then and there that this little guy needed me.

The problem: I still live with my parents…

And they were hard set against allowing a cat with claws in the house.

Now before all you animal activists start attacking my parents, they had their reasons. The biggest reason was that the family cat is declawed, so her safety is a priority. I totes respect that.

But I also believe in doing the right thing when it presents itself and fighting for what your heart is telling you.

Trying to reason with my parents was met with feelings of soooooo much guilt. They had me questioning how I could even consider putting this stress on them. 

I’m a terrible child.

I’m ungrateful.

I’m being unrealistic.

I’m a crazy cat lady… (I mean, I definitely am, but that’s nothing to be ashamed of… I’M CAT CRAZY AND I’M PROUD!)

One of the things my dad said to me almost had me reconsider: “Why not let some other family give him a good home?”

Someone else can get him his vaccines.

Someone else can make sure he doesn’t have flees.

Someone else can train him to use the litter box.

Someone else can let him sleep in their pussy.

It would have eliminated any stress from the situation; it would have been easy…

But the right thing is often the thing that ISN’T easy, right? (That’s what all the grown-ups tell us growing up… until the right thing involves something they don’t 100% agree with.)

A lot of the problems of the world today could be avoided if people didn’t just pass all the hard or inconvenient responsibilities on to someone else.

Long story short: I convinced my parents to let me bring Mogley home.

And my family loves him.

He’s gone from skinny, skittish, and sickly to bouncy, cuddly, and healthy. He loves playing with my feet, he has a weird quirk of yowling to inform me that he’s about to use the litter box, he has a healthy appetite…

And his favorite cuddling position is snuggled right up in my crotch.

(Don’t worry, I always wear pants. I may be a crazy cat lady, but I’m not THAT crazy…)

And call me crazy cat lady (again), but I honestly believe Mogley KNOWS he’s supposed to behave, because not only has he not ONCE taken a swing at the family cat, but he also adores her. (Although she’s not a big fan of his, but the worst she does is roll her eyes at him.)

The lesson?

Don’t EVER let guilt keep you from doing what you KNOW, in your deepest, tingliest (not tingly down “there,” gentlemen… just to be clear), and (in my case) furriest gut is the right thing to do.

People and life can make you feel guilty about just near anything. If you always listen to it and do the “easy” thing, how the hell are you supposed to live your best life?

(And don’t get me started on feeling guilty for being a crazy cat lady… that’s a whole other blog post… Which I plan to write… Because I tell myself I’m not the only one… I’M NOT, KAREN, I CAN’T BE!)

(And yes, the kitty in the picture is Mogley… I KNOW!)