Sometimes All You Really Need Is A Cat
Living single can mean freedom and excitement, but it can also mean loneliness.

Yearning for a companion, but not a mate?

A pet is a great option.

At 12 years old, I had it all planned out. I would marry at 18, have my first kid at 19, second by 21, live in a house in the suburbs with a dog named Benji, and have bitchen’ hair. I didn’t know who I would marry and make beautiful babies with but I was pretty certain he would closely resemble Jake Ryan from “Sixteen Candles” and drive something sporty. I would be a stay at home mom, write mediocre poetry about life and Corey Haim, and make a kick ass manicotti.

Fast forward 22 years and the only thing I have in common with my childish aspirations is my bitchen’ hair. So, what happened?

To put it simply, life happened. Somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn’t that big a fan of the Porsche 944, I couldn’t make a decent manicotti to save my life, and had I married at the tender age of 18, I more than likely would have become a statistic, not a stay at home mom.
And I’m okay with that.

This is not the part where I tell you how fabulous it is being single. This is already known. This is not the part where I blame all the men in my life for making me fall short of my early goals. That is just an excuse. This is the part where I tell you it’s okay to be single but it’s also okay to get lonely. That despite the freedom and excitement being single affords me, sometimes I wouldn’t mind having someone along for the ride to tell me just how bitchen’ my hair is.

So, I got a cat.

You read that right. I’m one step closer to becoming Crazy Cat Lady. Another couple rescue cats, a few blue highlights and some baby powder/violet discount perfume and I’m set.

Getting my kitty is the closest I’ve come to commitment in almost a decade. If anything, I enjoy her company more than that of 95% of the men I’ve previously encountered. She’s never lied to me or been dishonest. Although, if she had, I wouldn’t have understood it anyway, since I don’t speak Meow. Yet.

And she’s very clean. Bathes constantly. With the exception of her slight fascination with the toilet paper roll and stealing my ice cream, we’ve become wonderful roommates.

I could go on and on, but I’ve got to go. She has informed me that it’s time for bed. If I don’t listen to her, she’ll wake me up at the crack of dawn by trying to bite the mole off my back.

So, until I meet someone who doesn’t snore and likes their women with a little crazy, cuddle time with a feline during Modern Family isn’t too bad. Sure beats having to watch football with Minute Man or Booger Boy.

About the Author:
Melisa Mae is an avid fan of anything Chuck Norris and vodka. If she could meet Chuck Norris while drinking vodka, all the better. The proudest moment of her life was when Vivian Campbell of Def Leppard waved at her between songs during their Greatest Hits tour. She has a B.A. in B.S. and likes referring to herself in the third person because it makes her feel special.


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