Noms Away!: Of Cats and Catherines

Denizens of the internet, I have a confession to make.

(sweaty palms, looks around nervously)

I -

(deep breath)

I am a cat lady.

Okay, okay! That is a shock to approximately NO ONE. Despite my cat-centric ways, I hope and think I'm not a crazy annoying cat lady. It used to be, I'd only respond to direct queries about them, or bring them up in conversation only if the story I was telling was part of a larger context - the cats were never the point of the story, they were usually incidental. Once, a cat destaining friend remarked "I like your cats because I don't know their names, since you never talk about them."

Used to be.

Lately, I can't seem to shut up about my furry bastards.

Because I am leaving them. And this is making me FEEL ALL OF THE GUILT.

I know, I know - odds are they will be fine. It's just that, in eleven (yes, 11!) years, I've never been away from them for this long. I live far away from my family; for a long time, it's been me and my cats united against the gaping maw of uncertainty that is daily life. They greet me when I get home, snuggle me when I'm lonely, lay on me when I'm sick. What, your doctor didn't tell you about the healing powers of 24 pounds of cat compressing your soft tissue when you're ill?

Fortunately, the awesome person subletting my room is a cat person and she's going to take care of them. So they'll be at home, around all the familiar stuff - just without me.

But still.

That face! Those paws!

Oh hello, do you need a cuddle?

It won't be me who will be looking out for them. And that is killing me.

I know, I know - animals deal with stuff differently than people. They live in the present tense. After a few days of me being gone, they'll adapt and keep napping in the sun.

But what about me?

Who will sleep at the back of my knees?