Last week was not a good week to be a crazy cat lady.
It was actually the biggest week in cats that the internet has seen so far in 2015, so you’d think I’d be thrilled and excited and happy. And I was. I was all of these things, at 7am on those two particular mornings when I got the news. It was what followed that made me question my existence.
A few days ago I woke up to the news that Sydney will open its first cat cafe (here’s the link if somehow you don’t know about this by now). I was ecstatic. Mostly because now I don’t have to open one myself, which is an idea I have toyed with way too many times in the past 6 months. I was so happy and I did the first thing I always do when I get exciting cat-related news: I shared it on Pussweek’s Facebook page. Instant likes! Yey!
Then the tags start rolling in, then the text messages. Hey Bexy, guess what!! (insert link to cat cafe article here). My name tagged on every Broadsheet, TimeOut, WhatsOn, Sydney Morning Herald article and homeless man’s ass all over Sydney. By 9am when I reach my office and open my inbox, I’ve got at least 11 emails from co-workers with OMG YOU’LL LOVE THIS! and HAVE YOU SEEN THIS! By 2pm I was still getting tags and emails, and even a text at 5pm (I mean, come on. If I haven’t heard about this before someone who finally found out about it at 5pm then what kind of cat lady would I be?) I was so fucking tired of hearing about the fucking cat cafe that I almost thought about cancelling the interview I had set up with them long before I was bombarded with HEY LOOK AT THIS! I BET THIS IS NEWS TO YOU! But I don’t hate the cat cafe. I hate my cat obsession being underestimated.
The next day I woke up to NEW NEWS! Uber was FINALLY doing their ‘deliver kittens to offices‘ day! OH MY GOSH, kittens will come to your office and you can play with them and adopt them, you guys! Can you imagine anything more perfect? Well I can. Receiving an email or message that isn’t HEY BEXY CHECK OUT THIS COOL NEW THING THAT’S JUST HAPPENING NOW. No, it isn’t just happening now. This has been in the pipeline for months, years almost. The most common question I was asked was, ‘When are the kittens getting here?’. Throughout the day my response gradually went from polite giggle to muted snigger to snol (sniff out loud), to grunt, to glare, to ‘FUCK RIGHT OFF’.
By the end of the day as soon as someone started a sentence with, ‘Hey Bexy have you heard – ” I was able to pre-empt their question and rattle off all facts and figures of the entire Uber and Cat Cafe companies’ history with the skill and precision of Ace Ventura.
Of course the thing that annoyed me the most is that I clearly was one of the first to post these nuggets of information, and obviously I expect everybody I know and have ever met in my entire life to have set up their Facebook so they get instant notifications the minute Pussweek’s page is updated. But no, my little page (of almost 11,000 likes mind you) gets smothered and pushed down by fat cats (I wish I meant that literally, I mean, if a fat cat came along and sat on my post and squashed it I wouldn’t even be mad).
Then it happened. Someone tagged me IN MY OWN GODDAMN POST ON MY OWN GODDAMN PAGE. Seriously, I mean… On a scale of one to even, I can’t. I’m the type of person who will stop someone mid-joke if I’ve heard it before. I will leave the room if my friends start telling others the same story they’ve already told me. I will turn off the radio if I hear the same song I heard two hours ago. Once is enough, god damn it.
The same thing happened a week earlier with an article about the top ten places to eat Nutella in Sydney. Tags ahoy. 4 posts on my wall, one after the other. Would it kill you to scroll down and do 0.5 seconds of research first?
Believe it or not, I’ve calmed down now. But I am still left wondering, what does this mean? Should I be happy that I have friends who know me so well and want to share exciting news with me? Or should I be concerned that I have somehow pigeonholed myself, and now my reputation as a crazy Nutella-eating cat lady is getting out of paw?