What Is She On About Now?

Write about what you know.

Or cats.

See the good advice of author Patricia Wendorf in What is she on about now?  Which I am taking, although she never mentioned cats. 

There is this popular myth about women of a certain age and cats. It is mostly propounded, I suspect, by men who fear we have spotted the advantages of the feline over the male.

Middle age is when a lot of people finally work out what it was they really wanted out of life, or who they wanted to be with and all that kind of potentially disruptive mental certainty. Inevitably there are more single women of and above a certain age. I should point out that I can’t prove that and I don’t have anything other than my own conviction to stand by since I am way too lazy to go looking for real evidence.

Men of a certain age turn their thoughts to younger women for a start (don’t start me off on that one, that comes in the rant section and this was going to be the introduction to anecdotes time) and women discover, as a lovely little cartoon book proclaims, that cats are better than men for lots of reasons. They generally require less attention and maintenance and repay with a whole lot less disapproval, criticism and rejection for a start. And on the whole men don’t respond to stroking with a satisfying purr nor do they feel as nice as cat fur. Women are sociable and like company but enjoy a bit less responsibility than bringing up families and looking after men when they finally get or have thrust upon them, freedom in middle age.

It is good to feel fur. Purring triggers a satisfied response in a human too. So it makes sense to have a cat. It is good for your emotional health, and a shame that single men with cats are viewed with scepticism and women with pity or contempt. We don’t make a point of feeling superior but we know what we like. Pets are not child substitutes although that is what some people turn them into. They fulfil a role and satisfy a mutual need. And allow for eccentric identities as “mad cat lady” and for amusing anecdotes aplenty.

The latter of course often contain wild exaggerations without which the reader may be thinking “what was so funny/interesting/clever about that”, “yawn”, or “my cat is way better than her cat…..”. It’s like kids, nothing is an interesting to you as your own and nothing as potentially insufferably boring as other people’s, unless you can find tales with which you can identify or simply enjoy in the retelling thereof.

So sit back and relax. Or leave now. 

I am not Deric Longden, Derek Tangye or James Herriot or even the bloke with a cat called Birmingham. But I have loved many cats and whether you like it or not, I’m going to tell the tales because they ARE funny and clever and sad and annoying and frustrating and lovable.

And all over the bloody place these days.

See Nobody owns the cats  and a whole lot more tails - sorry,  tales  (well actually, both) - under this section heading.