I like cats. Well, I like A cat. My cat. He moved in with me fourteen years ago after walking in through my living room window one night like he owned the place. He still doesn’t have a name. He never told me and I never asked, so I’ve always just called him kitty or the cat but now we’re like best friends and that should be the end of it. Although, it’s not.

Somewhere along the line, my love for my cat has led to all of my friends and family inundating me with cat materials every chance they get, much like how my Oma has nearly a hundred ceramic, porcelain or carved wooden elephants in her house because one time, ten years ago, she said she liked elephants.

I suppose I have to take some responsibility for the piles of cat artifacts that I am perpetually buried under seeing as I can’t get through one Slackers post without at least mentioning cats and also I did send out this picture of my cat with all of my holiday cards last year but that was mostly just to be obnoxious.

However, the degree to which my peers think I am a cat person, is at this point, highly exaggerated. I swear if it were up to my friends Lorraine and Saime, they would have me living in some kind of back mountain cat commune where  I sat around knitting cat sweaters all day and doing cat theater at night. Sweet Jesus, that sounds delightful.

It all started with my mother when the cat and I first became roommates. At Christmas, I started getting stuff like this:

It was cute, you know in a funny way, like “Oh. I have a cat now. I get it.” but it only grew from there. Every holiday after that was peppered with cat swag. Books, knick knacks, mugs, picture frames. It didn’t stop.

Once my friends caught on, which may or may not have had something to do with me bringing in photos of my cat to hang at the reception desk of my office, I was besieged by a whole new kind of cat fury. (I really REALLY wanted to say furry there) Just look at my Facebook page! These are only a few of the most recent postings I’ve received from friends over the past couple of months:

Like, holy cat shit. It’s completely out of hand!

I get notifications about cat shows, directions to cat towns, links to cat blogs, articles about cat cafes. I mean thank God it wasn’t an aardvark that crawled through my window that night. (Cue friends with the aardvark photos)

Last week however, things took a whole new turn. I was coming home from work when I checked my mail. There was a letter from my Aunt Nicole. How exciting! No one ever sends letters anymore. What could this be? I opened it up and this is what I found inside:

Is that a cat juggling?? I need to book a flight immediately.

 I am now getting cat effects via the postal service. About cat circuses.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate my friends and family thinking of me every time a feline crosses their path, it’s just that I’m becoming slightly concerned about what I’m turning into. It used to be a joke that eventually I would live in a creepy old house on a hill with my sixty-seven cats but now it’s starting to seem like it might actually happen. As much as I laugh about it, I don’t want to be a crazy old cat lady! I want a loft on the upper west side with mirrored walls, a sunken living room and eighties furniture!

And like, maybe one cat.

In the interim though, I think it’s best I avoid all exposure, lest my fears of subscribing to Cat Fancy magazine and dressing like a kitten for Halloween, come to fruition. Starting today I am initiating an embargo on all cat related posts, photos, products, what have you. This cat crap, is effectively shut down. As of right now, I will be packing my bags and moving to an obscure town, under an assumed name…

and getting a dog.

P.S. Rochelle, I was just kidding. Please don’t ever stop sending me pictures of cats. Meow!