It doesn’t matter where my cat is in my apartment, the minute I put on a pair of black slacks… she knows . Black slacks are to cats as those soundless whistles are to dogs. I haven’t even finished zipping them up before she’s doing the lambada up against my legs, leaving a blanket of bright orange kitty hair. Where does it all come from!?! I brush her daily, I think she purposely molts just to be able to truly hairfy me!!
Now I’m jumping back and forth from one leg to another trying to keep her away from my pants, yelling out “STOP IT, I don’t have time to lint roll!” or even worse “GET AWAY FROM ME, My lint rollers out!”. I don’t know why I tell her these things, she knows, all cats know that’s why they truly enjoy the dance.
We’ll continue dancing throughout the apartment; while I’m brushing my teeth in the bathroom, packing my lunch in the kitchen, and kissing my hubby goodbye in the bedroom, all the way to the front door. The moment I open the door she knows the dance is done and turns around with her tail in the air and saunters away. This is the equivalent of the cat bow or flip off.. your choice.
My friend Tif has it even worse as she has 2 cats. They’ve developed a tag team routine that renders it absolutely impossible for her to leave her house without being covered from foot to knee in cat hair. However, she’s developed a sneaky alternative, she doesn’t put her pants on until she is JUST walking out the door. This is clever, however I’m so scattered brained in the morning; trying to get my hair to calm down, finding my keys that I somehow lost between the door and the key bowl 4 steps away, and trying to find my phone which always ends up being buried on the floor (damn CIA cat), that I could just see myself flying out the door with absolutely no pants on… really that is TOTALLY believable. And by the time I’d realize my mistake and high tail it back to my apartment, to hide my shame, I’ll have lost my keys again.
No, no I just can’t put myself through that psychological trauma. I will have to continue participating in the Cat Lady’s Dance until I retire from work and no longer need black slacks or my cat dies, whichever may come first… and I can see her living forever just to spite me.