The Proverbial Houseful of Cats

 There is nothing I hate more than certain men telling women of a certain age that she is doomed to die alone with her houseful cats whenever she has the nerve to have any kind of standards for men she'd like to date. Especially when she has just politely declined a date with such a man.

First of all, women of a certain age are not doomed to die alone just because she isn't so desperate as to accept any male scraps thrown her way.

And second of all, why is the ultimate punishment to die alone in a houseful of cats? That actually sounds like heaven to a lot of women, including the ones who are already attached to a man. I mean, it would suck for the cats, so make sure there is a will in place for their care.

When I'm told, "Enjoy your houseful of cats," I say "Yes, please! And dogs and rabbits and maybe a miniature donkey! Possibly a pot-bellied pig."

In other words, bring on the houseful of animals. 

It just cracks me up that there are people out there who think being with a man, any man, is preferable to being with a lot of animals, because I am here to tell you my last three relationships do not compare to the houseful of pets I now live with. They might be messy, but they are much easier to live with. They've never shot a hole in my wall. 

Or called me a slut and a bitch.

Yes, I am a woman of a certain age. I am also a woman of a certain age with the worst possible taste in men and no current prospects on the horizon because I don't trust my own judgment anymore. Except when it comes to the critters.

I love critters of all shapes and sizes. I save the jumping spiders hanging out in my house by putting them in the garden so the cats won't get them. I will also save any moths who happen to escape the wrath of Spencer by also moving them outside after sucking them up with the vacuum cleaner. I love bunnies and birds and horses and pigs. I even like the pissy town deer that hang out in people's yards every morning and give me shitty looks should I dare to walk by them too closely.

So I get resentful when I'm expected to swoon at the attention of any man just because he was willing to overlook my age and give me a chance. Yes, I realize I'm an old relic, but even the old relics have standards, and more so after an abusive relationship.

Believe me, after living with an abusive man, living with nothing but animals is NOT a punishment.

Pickings are slim anyway. Since I broke up with the ex I had one date with a guy who ended up being under thirty (in my defense I thought he was at least 32, and in his defense he may have thought I was 35), and I was possibly propositioned for a threesome with a couple.

I guess I should have jumped all over both of those, but the twentysomething ghosted me after I refused to sleep with him, and the threesome just isn't my thing, I don't care how hot the guy was. I haven't been intimate with anyone in over a year, so when or if I ever decide to have sex again it sure won't be a one-night stand with some guy who will never call again, and it won't be with another woman present who is more important than me in the relationship. I don't have a problem with swingers or people in the polyamorous lifestyle, it just isn't for me.

But thank you very much for asking.

These are just a couple of examples of the scraps thrown at women my age that we are supposed to be eternally grateful for. I have a degree, a successful career, own two properties, and have a bank account, and that is a hell of a lot more than a lot of people have, but I am lacking because there is no man attached to me. I am doomed to die alone and miserable in my house full of cats because I missed the boat and had the nerve to turn forty without ever getting married. I had opportunities, but I squandered them and now I have to just accept whatever comes my way because no man of quality will want my aging tuckus.

How dare my old ass have standards. I'm single and forty. I don't deserve them.

Society really needs to get away from this philosophy that a woman's worth is tied up in her youth because really, we all age, we all get old, and even men will find themselves on the wrong side of the nursing home door one day. Age is not a dreadful horrible thing that happens to you and you might as well give up your vitality and life in favor of the knitting needles, a rocking chair, and a houseful of cats as soon as you hit forty. Though none of that sounds hortible. Sure the skin gets a bit wrinkled, and the love handles start to show, the hair starts to thread with grey, and maybe the bones creak a bit more than they used to. But here's the thing about age. I wouldn't go back to my twenties if you paid me. Go through all that again? Phew. I have more now than I ever had when I was younger. I actually own property. I have amazing lifelong friends that I've known for thirty years. No twenty year old can say that. I have experience and wisdom. Maybe not in dating, but the wisdom is there. Somewhere. I finally got my Papillons I always wanted. I could never have afforded them in my twenties and without property wouldn't have been able to have them. I still have a German shepherd. With the degree I studied for I make enough money to live alone so I can essentially do whatever I want in my own home, and I don't have to ask someone's permission when I want to get another animal.

Or buy an entire new wardrobe which I had to do when I gained twenty pounds and none of my "thirty" clothes fit me anymore.

I can buy a case of high quality wine without hearing "How much did that cost?" 

I can feed my pets the highest quality diet I can afford without hearing about what a waste of money it is "just for a bunch of animals." (I had an ex who got irritated with how much money I spent on food for Tess, as if that was any of his business).

I can paint my walls a lovely shade of light green, and plant all the petunias I want without having to listen to opinions on why petunias suck and are boring (well except from my dad, but he doesn't have to look at them so whatever, Dad).

I can eat cake for breakfast, and this is probably one of my favorite things. Probably also the reason I gained twenty pounds and needed a whole new wardrobe.

Since I am no longer looking to impress the opposite sex because hey, I'm old and worthless to them anyway, I can behave however I want. The older you get the more you get to speak your mind without caring what others think. You have wisdom that you didn't have in your twenties. You aren't looking to impress people or worry about what they think of you because you realize it just doesn't matter. If they like you, great. If they don't, they probably never will so who cares what they think? It's exhausting trying to get people to like you anyway, and it's even more exhausting trying to be the perfect girl for a man who will never be satisfied. I'm not speaking generally of men here. I'm speaking specifically of the ones I dated who always tried to change me and then got pissed off when I wasn't the dream girl they envisioned.

Most men are lovely. Most men are wonderful people who want the best for the women in their lives. These men are essential.

But I am not going to get a boyfriend just because my time is running out and my destiny is to die old and alone with a houseful of cats.

It will probably be a houseful of Papillons anyway. Because I can get another Papillon if I want and there is no one to stop me.

 I won't. Four dogs are plenty..

But I can.

 And yes, I can buy dresses for my dog!

The cat sleeps on the bed.