Catwoman

I know a woman. From this point forward, she shall be referred to simply as Catwoman. Now, I haven't tagged her with this nickname because she has any superhuman feline talents or because she bears any striking resemblance to Halle Berry. Far from it. The woman has cats. When I say has cats, I don't mean it in the sense that most people have cats. These cats are her life. Her favorite activities include feeding, bathing, and walking the cats. When Catwoman is away from her precious kitties, you can bet she's talking about them to anyone who will listen. I barely know this woman, but you better damned well believe I could give you a detailed description of her cats' personalities.

From the first time I met her nearly a year ago, I have found myself worrying, literally on a daily basis, that I will end up like her. She's in her mid-forties. She's relatively intelligent, has a sharp sense of humor, and is not at all unattractive. Still, she's single and childless and detests this about herself. She refers to herself simply as "the recluse" and often lets those around her know how unhappy she is that she'll never bear children. She occasionally dates, but mostly her men stories relate to her bringing a random dude home, making out with him for a while, and never seeing him again.

Hello! Does this not sound like me?! I'm worried that this is what I have to look forward to twenty years down the road...a bleak lonely existence in which the highlight of my day is describing the size of Mitten's latest hairball for my peers.

Apparently, I saw my reflection in Catwoman too many times. I recently met a guy who made me decide that it just might be time to give up all the single, dating multiple guys, drinking heavily and making out with everything that has a penis and some that don't, lifestyle. After all, I'm not getting any younger. It kind of seems like time to start acting like an adult.

So, the guy. Let's just call him--oh, I don't know--Chad. He immediately struck me as cute, intelligent, very sweet, thoughtful, and witty in that really dry, sarcastic way that never fails to make me laugh. Best of all, he likes me. I mean, really likes me. From the get go, he's been very forward with me, insisting each time I see him that he has a "huge crush" on me. Accordingly, he's insisted on spending most of his free time with me. We have a lot of fun together...so much fun, in fact, that I abruptly stopped my intermittent Will visits when Chad became crazy jealous. Those of you who've met Will know this shit was hard for me to do. He's funny, and adorable, and kisses so well he could make a living out of it.

Chad recently started a new job which requires him to work only evenings, which means that our time together has been much more limited these past couple of weeks. I can handle this. As a general rule, I thrive on being alone and the nights he works are welcome breaks for me. I can go for long walks, watch shitty chick flicks, read shitty chick books, and generally just enjoy some me time. Having said that, I'm always excited to see him when the opportunity presents itself.

This week, I hung out with Chad on Monday night and enjoyed time to myself the next couple of nights while he worked. Late Wednesday night, he called me after work. He asked me what I was doing on Thursday night and I replied that I had no plans. He gave me his typical, "Good! I really want to see you!" response. He then continued on to tell me that he was originally scheduled to work but had switched for a weekend shift because he knew I'd be out of town this weekend and I'd was more likely to be able to see him on Thursday. Aww. Sweet, right?

Except, no. Not so sweet at all. He didn't even bother to call or so much as send me a text message last night. I've made it very clear that I don't want or expect him to spend all of his time with me...but, seriously, it would have been nice of him to just let me know that he made other plans. I don't know if I'm extra hormonal right now or what but, for some reason, this is tearing me up inside. Is this what rejection feels like? I don't know rejection. I protect myself too much to let that happen. Now I'm quickly remembering why I don't like to let my guard down. Sadly, I'm of the "get even" mentality and, starting tomorrow, I have a full weekend in the cities to look forward to. I was planning on behaving, but, unless he contacts me with a damn good excuse before I take my first swig of beer tomorrow night, all bets are off. Single is a lot less confusing, you know?

Catwoman's life is starting to look pretty appealing. Maybe if I ask really nicely, she'll let me move into her basement.