stereotypical single woman

Two years ago today I was at my emotional worst. I had worked toward a career for ten years, landed a great job, only to move home after four months in New York. I then had a disastrous time working in Grand Rapids theatre (don’t think it’s all bad though, some of it can be really great, my experiences just bit the big one.) Then I had tried dating a co-worker, and while I desperately wanted the relationship to work, building a relationship when you’re a shell of you former self is just dooming it from the beginning. I was also broke. I had reached a point where really didn’t know what I was going to do with my life and felt like I didn’t have a friend in the world.

But then on November 12, 2005 after celebrating my sister’s birthday (Happy Birthday Trina!), I was leaving a smokey dive on a frosty night, drunk off my ass on Long Island Ice Teas (and very bad ones at that), when a little flea-infested, dirty, malnourished kitten with a severe upper respiratory infection and case of cat scratch fever saw an opportunity, ran up to my drunk ass and jumped into my arms.

I’m not a religious person, but Marty, something made you show up at just the right time. I think at that point I needed your simple unconditional love and acceptance even more than you needed me. The process of making you healthy helped me to begin healing myself as well.

I never wanted to be a crazy cat lady, I spent most of my life mocking and joking about the stereotype. In fact it’s the last thing I ever wanted to happen to me. But in the last two years you’ve turned me into one. Thanks a whole hell of a lot you adorable little bastard, I wouldn’t trade you for the world.