I am 21-years old, and I fear that I am already a crazy cat lady.

My days consist of getting woken up much too early by either my cats or my partner, who is up because, hey, who’d have thought, the cats woke him up to be fed. Throughout that day I think to myself. “I wonder what Scout is doing right now,” or “I hope I remembered to leave the heating pad on low for Wendy because she gets cold,” like an estranged ex-boyfriend thinking about the girl who wants nothing to do with them. When I get home, I greet them many times before I do my partner. I ask them about their day and tell them about mine, all the while knowing they just want me to feed them a second dinner.

I bought them a $300 litter box, did hours of research to find the perfect food, have entirely too many pictures of them literally just sitting there, and talk to them like they are human.

I personify them. I love them. Perhaps to an unhealthy degree, but I can’t help it.

Perhaps I was always just meant to be the crazy cat lady. That gang of stray cats that my friends and I would try to pet in my neighborhood growing up should have been a sign to the adults in my life of what was to come later down the road.

I got my first cat a few months after moving out of my parents’ house, and my second a few months later with my partner. They have comforted me, taught me patience, helped me come out of my shell, and genuinely made me much happier in life.

This may seem silly to some, but my cats are my daughters. They came into my life during a huge transitional period, but rather than being another stress, they brought me comfort. This is not to say that everyone should get a cat in their 20s. I firmly believe that you should only get an animal if you are able to fully take care of its needs. If you have the means and desire, get a cat, it will change you for the better.

Torie Price is a McPherson sophomore studying journalism and the Collegian’s Opinion Page Editor. She can be followed on Instagram.

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