I used to tease. Used to predict mine was a spinster future of keeping all the balls that came on the porch and tea parties with hordes of cats dressed in wide-brimmed straw hats.
I was only half-kidding.
Then came a conscious, scary choice to live off script and explore life and lust and the soul and every day as “anything can happen,” tasting sweet and savory, placing a firm grip on whatever needed firm gripping at the time. The future became a happier vision of cocktails at a swingy retirement apartment, rolling my tube top down and hitting on all the interns. Or settling down in my eighties with a man who wears a jaunty cap, calls me "mother" and kisses me sweetly.
Cat Ladies is a docu-peek into the lovely, sad souls and self-proclaimed crazy collectors. Cat lady conducting feline inventory, counting “...un deux trois cat” all the way up to 116. Cat lady sleeping in a twin bed. Cat lady whose voice breaks when admitting bare bones loneliness. Cat lady apologetic of her need to care for others, care for something.
The Web site for the film declares:
"Women like Margot, Jenny, Diane and Sigi are easily dismissed as 'crazy cat ladies', but these women deal with the issues that all of us face to some degree - alienation, loss and loneliness in a society that devalues the 'different'".
Ladies, brave out for a cocktail. With people. And sex, a lot of it. With people. Different is beautiful and charming, connection sometimes difficult, yes, especially in a blinders-on-staring-straight-ahead world. Relationships often painful. And joyous.
Are there “Cat Men?” I know a few pussy collectors.