- Joined
- Dec 17, 2017
- Messages
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- Purraise
- 9
How I Became a Cat Lady
By Terri Rimmer
I’ve been diagnosed many things but the nickname I hate the most - “Crazy Cat Lady,” - is not one of them, though my neighbors would beg to differ.
Oddly enough when I was in my 20s and writing for a small town newspaper, The Camden County Tribune, they published a column I wrote about what different lives my sister and I lead. She’s a therapist and I was the creative type, she was a neatnik and I was messy. But I also addressed the fear that I would one day grow up and be like the crazy cat lady who lived across the street from my mom and step dad at the time.
Now this woman was not a Crazy Cat Lady. She was unmarried, morbidly obese, worked, single, and had two cats. But in that neighborhood there were no feral cats. You might run across a stray once in a blue moon and if one had darkened her garage door she probably would’ve fed it but no one in the 80s would’ve said a word.
It was a different time.
My fear of becoming the Crazy Cat Lady wound up being unfounded, so I thought, as I met and married my husband and later had a daughter, though my husband and I eventually divorced.
But a year before my boyfriend was diagnosed with cancer, although I’d always had a cat of my own, a stray cat named Gypsy showed up. I named her that because she was homeless, like a gypsy. Someone once told me once you name them, they’re yours but I knew I couldn’t keep her because I couldn’t afford to feed both cats, my indoor cat, Chaplin and my dog, Ripley.
Ruben died only two months after being diagnosed with cancer and more cats showed up. I went to great lengths to not only make sure they had enough food and water but from October through April every year to make sure they had enough shelter. This involved spending tons of time building shelters of blankets, towels, forts from all kinds of materials, boxes, bags, baskets, stuff people would throw out that would make deep beds like suitcases; anything like that.
The stores got tired of me asking for boxes eventually.
Every time I had extra money I was buying blankets for the cats. I went through three comforters to keep them warm from ice storms which eventually got ruined from the weather and disintegrated I hurt myself dragging van seats, heavy furniture, some of my own furniture I was no longer using, and even pulling out dresser drawers to keep them warm from the brutal winter.
Eventually when it gets so cold there’s nothing else you can do but pray.
I was always relieved when spring would come and I could take it all down.
But then summer would come and there was nothing I could do to keep the cats cool except offer them ice in big bowls which the kittens thought were toys and would bat around.
So many prayers were said over these guys.
Several people offered to help me find them homes.
Out of over 25 cats only two found homes since 2004.
Last month I faced my biggest fight regarding the cats yet.
My new neighbors called Code Compliance twice and I was being forced to turn one cat over a day to the Humane Society or I’d be fined $2,000 per cat. I was not allowed to do TNR because the neighbors wanted them completely gone due to the cats pooping in their flower beds.
A kitten died on my porch recently and I took the first cat into the Humane Society who told me that most ferals are put to sleep.
She was only ten months old and black, the least adoptable color.
I’ve always been sensitive when it comes to animals and my daughter is, too.
It goes back to when I was ten and my father abruptly told me were were taking our female cat, Tigger and her kittens somewhere.
He loaded us in the car with no explanation and stopped the car at this apartment complex parking lot, ordering me to get the mamma cat and kittens and put them out.
I felt like my heart and guts were caving in but I did it as I begged him not to make me, crying hysterically.
He was not moved in the least by my tears or emotions.
As we backed out of the complex, he simply said, “They’ll be all right. Someone will get them.”
I cried all the way home.
That memory still haunts me though I’d actually forgotten about it till last year.
The blunt force of it came to the surface again recently when a kitten I was taking care of died on my front porch because Code Compliance ordered me to stop feeding her or I’d be fined.
So, just like my dad, the old adage of: “Someone else will feed them. Someone else will come along” is simply not true.
That baby cat was used to me feeding her several times a day.
It’s just like how we do with people: “Oh, someone will take care of them. Someone else will do it.”
Someone told me “You’re stronger than you think you are.”
Well, if I get strong enough to watch a cat die every day and be okay with it, I never want to be that strong.
That would make me a sociopath.
I believe we are put on this earth to take care of God’s creatures.
Why wouldn’t we be?
Then, in the last month things have taken a turn because I have gotten involved in TNR and my eyes that were once closed are now open.
It is hard work but very rewarding and I have gone from “I can’t” to “I will.”
I have the Panther City Feral Cat Coalition to thank for that.
I am indebted to them for helping me to overcome my obstacle of moving past what I thought was impossible and that was that there was no hope for me or the cats.
By Terri Rimmer
I’ve been diagnosed many things but the nickname I hate the most - “Crazy Cat Lady,” - is not one of them, though my neighbors would beg to differ.
Oddly enough when I was in my 20s and writing for a small town newspaper, The Camden County Tribune, they published a column I wrote about what different lives my sister and I lead. She’s a therapist and I was the creative type, she was a neatnik and I was messy. But I also addressed the fear that I would one day grow up and be like the crazy cat lady who lived across the street from my mom and step dad at the time.
Now this woman was not a Crazy Cat Lady. She was unmarried, morbidly obese, worked, single, and had two cats. But in that neighborhood there were no feral cats. You might run across a stray once in a blue moon and if one had darkened her garage door she probably would’ve fed it but no one in the 80s would’ve said a word.
It was a different time.
My fear of becoming the Crazy Cat Lady wound up being unfounded, so I thought, as I met and married my husband and later had a daughter, though my husband and I eventually divorced.
But a year before my boyfriend was diagnosed with cancer, although I’d always had a cat of my own, a stray cat named Gypsy showed up. I named her that because she was homeless, like a gypsy. Someone once told me once you name them, they’re yours but I knew I couldn’t keep her because I couldn’t afford to feed both cats, my indoor cat, Chaplin and my dog, Ripley.
Ruben died only two months after being diagnosed with cancer and more cats showed up. I went to great lengths to not only make sure they had enough food and water but from October through April every year to make sure they had enough shelter. This involved spending tons of time building shelters of blankets, towels, forts from all kinds of materials, boxes, bags, baskets, stuff people would throw out that would make deep beds like suitcases; anything like that.
The stores got tired of me asking for boxes eventually.
Every time I had extra money I was buying blankets for the cats. I went through three comforters to keep them warm from ice storms which eventually got ruined from the weather and disintegrated I hurt myself dragging van seats, heavy furniture, some of my own furniture I was no longer using, and even pulling out dresser drawers to keep them warm from the brutal winter.
Eventually when it gets so cold there’s nothing else you can do but pray.
I was always relieved when spring would come and I could take it all down.
But then summer would come and there was nothing I could do to keep the cats cool except offer them ice in big bowls which the kittens thought were toys and would bat around.
So many prayers were said over these guys.
Several people offered to help me find them homes.
Out of over 25 cats only two found homes since 2004.
Last month I faced my biggest fight regarding the cats yet.
My new neighbors called Code Compliance twice and I was being forced to turn one cat over a day to the Humane Society or I’d be fined $2,000 per cat. I was not allowed to do TNR because the neighbors wanted them completely gone due to the cats pooping in their flower beds.
A kitten died on my porch recently and I took the first cat into the Humane Society who told me that most ferals are put to sleep.
She was only ten months old and black, the least adoptable color.
I’ve always been sensitive when it comes to animals and my daughter is, too.
It goes back to when I was ten and my father abruptly told me were were taking our female cat, Tigger and her kittens somewhere.
He loaded us in the car with no explanation and stopped the car at this apartment complex parking lot, ordering me to get the mamma cat and kittens and put them out.
I felt like my heart and guts were caving in but I did it as I begged him not to make me, crying hysterically.
He was not moved in the least by my tears or emotions.
As we backed out of the complex, he simply said, “They’ll be all right. Someone will get them.”
I cried all the way home.
That memory still haunts me though I’d actually forgotten about it till last year.
The blunt force of it came to the surface again recently when a kitten I was taking care of died on my front porch because Code Compliance ordered me to stop feeding her or I’d be fined.
So, just like my dad, the old adage of: “Someone else will feed them. Someone else will come along” is simply not true.
That baby cat was used to me feeding her several times a day.
It’s just like how we do with people: “Oh, someone will take care of them. Someone else will do it.”
Someone told me “You’re stronger than you think you are.”
Well, if I get strong enough to watch a cat die every day and be okay with it, I never want to be that strong.
That would make me a sociopath.
I believe we are put on this earth to take care of God’s creatures.
Why wouldn’t we be?
Then, in the last month things have taken a turn because I have gotten involved in TNR and my eyes that were once closed are now open.
It is hard work but very rewarding and I have gone from “I can’t” to “I will.”
I have the Panther City Feral Cat Coalition to thank for that.
I am indebted to them for helping me to overcome my obstacle of moving past what I thought was impossible and that was that there was no hope for me or the cats.
There's nothing like a warm cup of coffee to help get you through the day. 
Hope you're going to share some pictures of the new baby when he arrives.
He's a smart boy. He recognized a good thing when he saw it. Good food, a huge enclosure to play in, lots of friends and YOU of course!! What cat wouldn't want that? He has grown from a sweet kitten to a handsome adult. He looks even better with his equally handsome pals. 
