Saturday, January 27, 2007


I offered my half-baked theory on why The Crazy Cat Lady is such a popular stereotype of single women in the comments here, but, honestly, who knows why it persists? Why can't we pick on the single dog-owning women once in awhile, huh?

Marie Provost did not look her best
The day the cops bust into her lonely nest
in the cheap hotel up on Hollywood west
July 29

She'd been lyin' there for two or three weeks
The neighbors said they never heard a squeak
While hungry eyes that could not speak
said even little doggies have got to eat

She was a winner that became a doggie's dinner
She never meant that much to me
Whoa oh poor Marie

That's what happens, ladies, if you fail to ketch a man: You die (almost) alone, your pet eats you, and an ex-pub-rocker turned new-wave poseur memorializes your tragic fate in a cheerfully infectious pop song, claiming all the while within it that you "never meant that much" to him. Is that what you want out of life, ladies? Three minutes of immortality? Well? Is it?

It kind of is what I want out of life, I admit, but then I'm a little crazy, on account of the cats and the singleness and a bunch of other aberrations, no doubt--so if you have a gift for writing lyrics, auditions for the honor of composing my memorial pop song are open starting . . . now. Good luck trying to rhyme "Ilyka;" maybe we should just call me Margo or Sally or something?

UPDATE: Another reason you should never own cats, and this one's straight from my gluttonous heart:

I can't eat pistachios because I have one cat who's obsessed with them, and he just makes the whole pistachio-consuming process very irritating, what with his constant begging and cuteness and occasional fetching of pistachios from random corners of the house, especially the way he drops them at my feet like, "Look what I brought you!" Aw, it's a cat-spit-covered pistachio! HOW SWEET. Who's Mama's good boy?

It was only today, however, that I discovered that Barkley eats peanuts. Now see here! I didn't GIVE him any; he just STOLE them, right out of the palm of my hand.

Just like he's probably planning to do with my liver when I die. Well, with any luck I won't actually be holding my liver in the palm of my hand when I die, but you get the idea.


Auguste said...

Good luck trying to rhyme "Ilyka;"

Formica. Try to die near a cheap table.

(Many, many, many years from now, of course)

ilyka said...

Oh man, I must have grown up with TOXIC amounts of that shit. Formica everything. My bedposts were probably Formica.

So it would kind of fit, sadly.

Lesley said...

Just like he's probably planning to do with my liver when I die.

I swear, I just can no longer think of liver, fava beans, or chianti without immediately thinking "Hannibal Lecter." Which sucks, because I like all three.*

I found out last night that one of my cats, Portia, likes roasted garlic. And what's up with that? Sure, the lamb chops she was trying to steal I got. But she hooked some roasted garlic off the plate and proceeded to eat it. Not the whole thing, but still.

And both my cats like bread. Any kind of bread, although egg bread is a popular favorite.

*OK, so not human liver. But I love paté.

Tom said...

So let me get this straight, where exactly does this song actually say she died alone because "she couldn't catch a man"

The song links her downfall to the rise of talkies. But I'm sure dedicated feminists can prove the rise of talkies were part of the plot of male domination.

Tom said...

But it is striking how lonely women very blatantly use their cats and dogs as substitutes for children. It's incredibly creepy to hear women calling themselves mommy when talking to their dachshunds.

ilyka said...

So let me get this straight, where exactly does this song actually say she died alone because "she couldn't catch a man"

Oh, it doesn't, of course. I'm just goofin' on the cat lady thing. Always with the cats, you know?

elyzabethe said...

i have two cats as well. at least your cats fancy edible objects. i have a little cat obsessed with water bottle caps, and a big cat obsessed with plastic straws. sometimes, after batting a water bottle cap around and slobbering all over it for several days, the little cat will jump up on my bed while i sleep and leave a chewed-up water-bottle cap next to my head .... that's love ....

elyzabethe said...

and to Tom, my married grandpa consistently refers to himself as "daddy" of his stupid fat jack russell terrier. it's not just a single women thing ..

Venomous Kate said...

I've informed my husband that he has to die before I do so I can live out my dream of being an old woman living with 30+ cats in a secluded home somewhere on the coast of Maine where I'll eat lobster and walk along the beach wearing baggy trousers, nodding and talking to myself and becoming a near legend in the talk of the townfolk.

elyzabethe said...

agh. I just stumbled across this guy's how-to-tell-if-you're-a-crazy-cat-lady-quiz on this guy's blog:

i (unfortuneately) started reading some of the rest of this guy's blog ... my goodness ... i kind of hope this guy is a joke? but I can't tell....