I’m not sure if quirky is the word to describe me, but something deep inside my brain, heart, or soul, makes about 70% of what comes out of my mouth be about cats. Big cats, little cats, striped cats, black cats, meow cats, roar cats, good cats, bad cats, it really doesn’t matter. This isn’t to say that I am, or ever will become, the CCL (crazy cat lady, if you will). The CCL is a special breed of lonesome that I know nothing of. It’s really hard to ignore my obsession with singing about big jungle cats, and Ryan not only accepts it, but feeds into it.
This weekend I had a near death experience involving a razor. Okay, so it wasn’t even close to near death, but it resulted in 3 inches of missing skin on my right ankle and a fair amount of blood. Ryan fixed me up and made me all better with his magical gauze pads and athletic tape. Four hours later while we are in the middle of watching a movie: “Ooo! Do my new stripes make me look more like a tiger?” … “Yes.” Yes, they do.
He even took me to Tiger World once. Have you been? They have lions. And tigers. And bears. Oh my! Also, they have peacocks and panthers and monkeys with red bums. Be careful of the multi-colored baboon ... he's crazy.
Do you love them? How about my new stripes? Do you want to go to Tiger World? Okay! I'll go with you.