Being a cat lady was initially, not my calling. Or so I thought. They say that our passions and pastimes as children are indicative of what we will become as adults, of what our vocation or life’s work will or should be. In looking back, I believe that I was a cat lady in training way before I understood the difference between a Persian and a Maine Coon. I have vivid memories of my first pet at the age of 2–a fluffy orange kitten named Tabby.
I also have vivid memories of drawing for hours, writing stories, and singing into my hairbrush to the tunes of Donny Osmond and the Jackson 5. I ended-up becoming a paralegal to pay the bills, but have evolved into a writer. I took my childhood sketching a step further and became an artist for fun, although I have sold a few paintings on commission, and I’ve dabbled in singing.
But what has been consistent throughout my life is my affinity for felines. Little did I know that Tabby would be the first of a family of cat companions that would enchant, captivate and provide love and life lessons beyond what I ever imagined. Although adopting cats rescued from either a lethal injection, abandonment or an abusive home isn’t a vocation of the career kind, it falls under the first definition of “calling” according to Webster, “a strong inner impulse toward a particular course of action, esp. when accompanied by conviction of divine influence.”
I can’t say for certain if I was influenced by angels; it’s more like I just couldn’t help myself. But I can say for certain that my cat lady calling, while isn’t a paid vocation, has been and continues to be rewarding, inspiring, enlightening and entertaining.