Just A Cat Lady

I’m 30 or something. I own two cats. My mom thinks this is the beginning of a tragedy. “You’re getting old,” she says. “You have no man, only fur babies.” As if I’m supposed to start crying into the litter box. But let me tell you something: I don’t chase men. And on a lonely night? It smells like freedom, good lighting, and better taste in partners. It is romantic, mysterious, a little dramatic, just like me when I run into my ex at Walmart.