“I am Not a Cat Lady” Seeks Man

Cat Lady

(This is a satirical dating profile from my book, Fake Personal Ads (Or Real Personal Ads for Fake People).)

WOMEN SEEKING MEN

Men, I just want to reassure you that I am not one of THOSE cat ladies. You know the type: An old broad who owns five felines, all of whom sleep with her like inter-species hippie commune. You see, I have only four cats, and only three of them share my bed, one of whom is not allowed to rest his extra-large head on my shoulder. His name is Fat Head. There was a time when I did allow Fat Head to cuddle with me, but his whiskered Volkswagen-sized cranium caused me to lose the feeling in my throwing arm, and thus my flag-football team had to forfeit our game that week.

Sure I have round-table discussions with my Four Whisker-teers, but in my case it is not a matter of being one of those crazy ladies who talks at their pets. I am a good listener. Our resident Minx, Dorothy Parker, has so much to say – and what an imagination!  Just last week, she threw off this witticism: You can bring a dog to culture, but then he barks like an idiot. We all laughed with the exception of the forever volatile Scratch-n-Sniff, who meowed out of jealousy before scratching the anus of the fourth feline member, Cy Meeze, who, in response, endured the discomfort, since he is a homophobe. Never mind that Scratch-n-Sniff is a girl. Cy Meeze once had a bad experience with a set of love beads while catting around at Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

People say that one of the prerequisites to being a cat lady is to be a fifty-five-year-old virgin, or someone who has not experienced sex with a man in the past fifteen years, or has at least not “let” a guy cop an accidental feel in a crowded bus. Well, guys, have no fear of me being that woman, as once a week I enter City Hall with the sole purpose of getting frisked by one of the security men. I am no prude.

But the security guard is just something I get on the side, like a Last Tango in the Municipal Parish. The true man in my life – and don’t get jealous, my internet suitors — is someone who I am gazing at right now on the TV with the sound turned up to the loudness of forty-six howitzers all firing away in an echo chamber. You may know my boyfriend – Brad Pitt. Scratch-n-Sniff says it won’t work between Brad and me. Yuh, and this from the same kitty whose psychotherapy practice is on the verge of bankruptcy. Why else does Brad stare at only me from the pictures of magazines? Well he has split with Angelina. Poor Angelina! So beautiful, and so blind. Luckily she has her six hundred and thirteen adopted children to fall back on for emotional comfort. I’m surprised she doesn’t own six cats, the chump.

But Brad is cool enough to not mind me dating other men…just so long as they understand that I am NOT a Cat Lady, thank you very much.

(Visit my website: http://www.authorjamesfjohnson.com)

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