Don't Sign Me Up

Clubs are supposed to be things that people want to join. It just so happens that I am privileged to have the right pedigree to join either the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR) or the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers (DUP). This is not to say that I am planning on joining any such club at the moment--I am pretty sure I lack the funds--but I could if I really really wanted to do so. Also, I am not 100 percent certain what I would do with any such organization. All I know about the DAR I learned from Gilmore Girls: meetings, luncheons, and fundraisers. All I know about the DUP is that my paternal grandmother joined, but I don't recall her mentioning any tea parties. However, being a member of either, or both, society does have one important benefit: being well-connected. If there is one thing I have gained from my time with Jane Austen (in either book or film form) is that it is important to come from a well-connected family...should one want to rub shoulders with good society and get hitched to a well-to-do single fellow who is naturally looking for a spouse.

Just as the DAR and DUP could help in social situations...or whatever...there is one club that could take all the benefits of connectedness away in one mighty swoop: The Crazy Cat-Lady Club (CCLC). Let's face it, while it is perfectly O.K. to like and own a few cats, loving and owning a horde of them is socially and hygienically a really bad idea. Unfortunately for me, just as easy as I could join the more high-class organizations, it appears that I am capable of being a member of the CCLC.

I'll be honest, I do like cats. I like to pet them, hold them, and I'm kind of fond of the way they purr. But that's where I'd like to keep it. Unfortunately, a couple of the cats at home are a little too hell-bent on making me look like a member of the CCLC.

Here are the Kitty Troublemakers: (on the left) Charlie, an 11-year-old male with a loud, chirpy meow, and a thick coat that he completely sheds whenever I wear black; (on the right) Mr. Bingley, a 1-year-old male, with a silent-to-squeeky meow, wild curiosity, and the ability to adapt to his lack of opposable thumbs.

Maybe I'm overreacting a little; all I know is that up until three-and-a-half months ago cats wouldn't give me the time of day. Now I have to put with 3:00am cuddling; constant requests for attention; "help" when I am typing on the computer or making my bed; an audience while washing my face; following me around; demands that they sit on my lap (this even happens with other people's cats these days...); exercise "assistance"; and having to hold them.

This behavior is relatively tolerable, but I have had to put an end to them following me into the bathroom whilst I shower. Mr. Bingley followed me in the other day. I thought I could get rid of him once I turned on the water. It didn't work, so I proceeded to disrobe while trying to avoid his staring eyes. Since the water takes its time getting warm, I thought a nature break was in order. So as I sat on the toilet, completely in the buff, Mr. Bingley thought it was an opportune time to sit on my lap. That was uncomfortable. It is one thing to hold a cat fully clothed, but it is another thing entirely to hold one while naked. Awk.Ward. It is a moment that totally propels one straight into the dreaded CCLC. I love our cats, but I don't want to love our cats. Needless to say, I didn't let him stay.

I am very certain that CCLC acts like that could keep me out of the DAR and DUP, and well, the rest of respectable society.