The other night though, I was met with a rather harsh reality. I'm getting older. It hit me like a slap in the face and I'm not really sure what to do about it other than remind myself that in a few days, I'll be laughing about how it ever bothered me.
They called me a Cougar.
A blow to the ego, it was, and the first person who said it was referring to the leopard print trim on my itty bitty dress. But Cougar. Typically an older woman who chases around after much younger men. I think of women in their 40's. MID 40's, not early thirties. Older women hitting on men in their early thirties and twenties. It's not just a noun. It's a verb. A man can be Cougared. I don't hit on men, I only embarrass myself.
Of course, the same fella that said it also called me "easy" a couple of hours later (I've been spreading THAT rumor for years. but it's not quite as funny when a stranger says it) and although he was playing, I had to walk away. Laughing, but I still wandered off. He had trouble written across his face. My picker isn't THAT broken.
I don't have a picture of the dress. Yet.
Today, there was kitty drama. One was stuck up under one of the shipping trailers. We pulled it out and discovered that he had a crushed paw and a gaping wound. I named him Lefty and took him to animal control since he was a stray and I can't afford the surgeries he will need. He can't have been more than 8 weeks old. We have no idea how long he was under that trailer. I have his case number. I will be calling. I don't need another animal. But he needs a home. And I have a soft spot for broken boys three legged critters. I worry though. I worry that they will put him down. After all, they don't really have the funds to fix every broken kitty that comes in. And while I think the paw will likely have to be amputated, there is still recovery, antibiotics, the cost of putting him under. I also don't know what else was wrong with him other than the fact he was REALLY dirty. You would be too if you travelled under you car.