I have never been one for setting long-term goals. It’s not that I’m without ambition. It’s just that I don’t buy into that whole “Where do you see yourself in five years?” psychobabble.
However, I have recently set two solid goals for myself. These aren’t the type of aspirations that can be achieved and then shelved. These are ongoing, day-to-day objectives I will struggle with for years to come, but I refuse to compromise on these two points.
First of all, I am determined not to be a bitter or angry person. I’ve worked really hard in my relatively short life to get away from being the irate person I used to be. I have managed to maintain my quick wit and blunt sarcasm, while evolving into someone who is a bit less argumentative and much less quick to judge. It is extremely important to me not to turn out to be resentful or indignant and I think I’m doing a pretty good job of avoiding it so far. But perhaps my second goal is more important to me. I don’t want to be the crazy cat lady.
Yes, I have two cats, and they’re probably the closest things I’ll have to children for a while. But I refuse to be found dead at 85 (or any age for that matter) with my 162 cats eating my decomposing body. I refuse.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my cats. They provide humor and affection when it’s most needed and remind me why I don’t have a dog whenever they get a bit demanding. But I’m not cat completely obsessed…yet. And I’d like to keep it that way.
I don’t have any cat calendars or excessive amounts of cat paraphernalia. And I don’t plan on owning any of these items soon. The only cat items in my house are my cats. But that’s exactly what worries me. I would own several more cats if my small house would stand it. That’s where the crazy cat lady comes in.
I can see it now. The ASPCA has to come in and clear out my one bedroom shack because I have a cat “infestation.” I get arrested and my face is plastered all over television. This might be an exaggeration, but I’ve seen it happen. Ever watch that show Animal Precinct?
So if you see me near the Humane Society looking at the kittens wistfully, or feeding strays behind Publix, remind me of my goals and shoo me away. Tell me how I don’t want to end up the crazy cat lady and point out that I’m covered in cat hair. And last but not least, remind me how I refused to take on the moniker of crazy cat lady and how I’m getting frighteningly close.
How’s that for a goal?