Call Me Maybe

I have not been looking outright to adopt another cat, but I always welcome the opportunity to help a cat in need. So call me maybe?

I have found myself humming “Call Me Maybe” all too frequently these days. Without fail, during my five-minute commute to the office, the song comes on the radio. When I’m pushing a grocery cart (stacked with cat litters, naturally) at my neighborhood Kroger, I hear Carly Rae Jepsen whispering in my ear. If I’m volunteering at my favorite resale shop on a Saturday morning, the Sirius station broadcast via the PA system plays and replays the song during my three-hour tour of duty.

During the past few weeks, an adorable stray tom kitty has scampered across our front yard. One morning, when he stopped in his tracks, I sensed that he was reaching out to me. OK, he was starving, period, and maybe he had heard about my book? I couldn’t resist feeding him, and after I did so, I felt certain he would return that evening for more. I was very surprised, and worried, when I did not see him again.

Then just last night, as I was driving home from work during prime time, I heard Carly Rae’s song again. I realized that this peppy song could become a sort of Cat Lady anthem. Think about these lyrics the next time you open your front or back door to a cat you have never seen before:

Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy

But here’s my number, so call me maybe


Guess what: Tom Kitty was waiting for me last night. He’s got my number, and there is no maybe!

Query of the Day: Who will adopt Tom Kitty?

Ring 3 Needs the Tonkinese

That phrase keeps ringing in my ears after having worked this past Saturday and Sunday at the 60th Houston Charity Cat Show. I use the term “worked” loosely because, obviously, a Cat Lady enjoys being near A LOT of cats—both household domestic and breeders’ exotic pets—and surrounded by empathetic Cat Ladies.

My colleagues at The MFAH Shop rented a booth to showcase the many artful books that the store carries for feline fanciers. Yes, very selfishly, I attended the show to hawk my Cat Lady Chronicles.

Some women who approached the museum shop's booth may have thought I was rude initially, because one of the first questions I was asked was, “Are you the Cat Lady”? I responded, “No, but I am one of thousands of Cat Ladies here today.” All joking aside, I was very pleased to meet others who wear their hearts on their sleeves, literally. I have never seen so many leopard-print-clad ladies in one room, and Exhibit Hall A at the George R. Brown Convention Center is huge. You get the picture.

The show’s announcer, whose booming twang might do well at an even bigger gig (the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo), made both of my days whenever he let all show attendees know that cats were leaving the building for their forever homes. Many of Houston’s prominent animal-rescue and shelter groups had set up on-site adoptions. I remember distinctly that there was tremendous applause for Mabel and Desirée when they bid goodbye to the devoted volunteers who had cared for them.

I wanted to bring home a female orange kitten for our three geriatric orange boys, but the voice of reason prevailed.

Query of the Day: Do you like to attend cat shows?