Finally I can identify properly, although I am uncertain as to the pronoun for my condition. If I combine she + cat, my personal pronoun could be shat, which sounds like the past tense of the crap-word. That one rolls off the tongue, though best to have never been on a tongue.
The fact remains that I have a cat and my two sons are dead. I am childless. They died a year ago. Specifically, eighteen months and twelve months ago. One from degradation and the other from a medical treatment that just happened to be untested but required for people who needed to earn a living for their families. In both deaths, Our Shitty Culture is to blame. Easy come, easy go, I suppose.
“Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.” That’s from a soap opera my granny and gramps watched on their lunch hour between optometry exams.
So, am I childless or am I disqualified because of my two granddaughters? Or may I still be in the running if I live five states away from these children once removed, alone, with a cat? I don’t really know the criteria to qualify for the position, but I want to apply because I don’t belong to many groups and I do like my cat.
This is a revelation for me because for the past year I have wanted an adjective or noun to describe my situation. If my husband had died, I would be a widow. If my parents died I would be an orphan. But they did die. Ok so I am an orphaned cat lady. This is getting better by the minute. Now I belong in two categories. Pun intended!
What is a Childless Womun? Should the term be capitalized or lower case? Protocols are up in the air these days, as you know. Evidently words matter very much and must be said exactly according to it, or all hell breaks loose causing sadness to some very sensitive people and angry lifting of shirts while screaming threats at passersby.
In spite of the madness, it is so exciting to belong somewhere, having been on the outside looking in, for my entire life. This is a common complaint of Oracles. Not to toot my own horn, because being an actual Oracle sucks big eggplant. I can see what’s coming in the big picture but when the words fall out of my mouth they land on the edge of the tide; the place where that lacy foam dampens the sand and then dissolves, disappearing as the water retreats for its next encounter with an incoming wave.
Words melting in surf. What to do about the dumbing of us? Pet your cat. Draw something. Take a walk near a green growing plant. Talk to a person. I do that.
Why cats? Cats are comforting and soft to touch. Obviously, because even people who don’t like them, like them. Cats refuse your dislike. They insist to sit on you and demand that you fall into their purring bliss. Cats are excellent role models becuz they know the correct proportions of independence and affection. They are usually proud of themselves, which we could all get better at rather than being the self-hating whites, jews, christians, wimmin, men, blacks, Italians, Scandinavians, name a country, fill in the blank; that we are.
Am I supposed to like the guy, VJ BJ TV Vance, or whatever, who called us shat ladies out in a political speech or am I to feign insult? I’m never clear on how to react, especially when I don’t give a shat about the subject or the person who said some shat that did not effect me or my cat. Thank the little baby Jesus that no cat eaters are living in my town, though I have heard there are a vivisectionist or two out in the hills.
All I can say is, keep your cats close. Batman, my friend, is purring to go out now. I will open the door so he can stroll to the patio, do his best cat stretch impression and oversee the territory of his yard. There will be no interlopers.
He is watching.
Buy Batman A Coffee. He’s very lazy and needs the jolt!