About Carolyn
I choose the name of my blog, House of Purrfection, because I wanted to convey my love for living with and caring for my cats. I’ve got the best cats. I love each and every one of them so much; they do me proud when other humans visit the HOP; they make every day an adventure; they love my mother and me unconditionally; they make every attempt to better understand us humans; and they make me want to be a better human being.
Our living conditions, the humans as well as the cats, are pretty close to perfect. Our fat, happy cats can attest to that fact. Sometimes when I tell someone that I have 17 cats, she will get that oh-isn’t-that-gross look on her face as if I just told her that I had Leprosy, or she’ll come right out and verbalize her disgust. Our house isn’t gross or disgusting; except for the odd vomit pile in the middle of the living room floor and the odd poop pile just outside the litter box. Other than that we live in a pretty gross-free home. However, I’m always sure not to elaborate on the fact that I have sometimes made a sandwich directly on the kitchen counter just after 4 or 5 cats have walked across the same area.
I’m an Ailurophile. Pure and simple. And, if I did nothing more than spend my time with cats, I’d be happy. That’s who I am; I’m someone who purely and simply loves cats. Now apart from sounding as if I needed a few long sessions with a good psychiatrist, I also unflinchingly appreciate that such an aloof creature is willing to hang out with humans, albeit those humans are most likely the elderly, moo moo-clad widows that have become the scary, often-joked-about, neighborhood ‘cat lady’. I, on the other hand, am an unapologetically happily-single, 40 year old woman who lives with her mother, Sue Ann, a widow. So, perhaps we’re an amalgam; my mother is on the cusp of elderly-ship-ness, and I’m on the cusp of reality. Nonetheless, I do recognize that quiet dignity that both the homeless and stray feline and the friendly and family-less individual share and appreciate in one another.
Besides being a fulltime Ailurophile, I’m also a fulltime Nail Tech (Manicurist) that has been working professionally since 2002 at a delightfully fun and friendly hair salon. Honestly, it’s the best job I’ve ever had. Honestly, I’ve never worked with such wonderful and great women in my life. And, honestly, I love working on very tiny and detailed surfaces requiring great attention to minute tasks. Being an absurdly devastating perfectionist, I’m perfectly suited to creating something personal for someone else. Not only has being a Nail Tech given me rewards such as, self-esteem, self-confidence, and proficient social skills, but it’s also given me the opportunity to make incredible friends, know marvelous people, and a great sense of accomplishment.
I have become close with several of my clients since we sit and chat for an hour or so while I’m working on their nails. However, I sometimes feel like a celebrity being interviewed during a publicity tour, “So, how are all the kitties?” each of my clients ask me each time I see them. Since I love nothing more than to talk about my indoor cat family, I don’t have to worry about sounding as if my needle’s stuck; for every client I have in a day, there are that many funny and interesting tales to tell. I need my public to keep an interest in me if I am to remain in the spotlight. Nails, Schmails!
One of the more memorable reactions I got when being “interviewed” about my cats was when Reina needed oral surgery due to Gingival Stomatitis. Now, as I put it, “One of my girls needs surgery because she….”
“You have children?” my client interrupted.
“Oh, no,” I laughed, “She’s one of my cats. She has a compromised immune system and needs oral surgery.”
“Oh,” she said, looking a little disappointed and offended at being misled. Then, I obliviously continued rambling about my blended family. Usually the first thing anybody learns about me is the fact that I have a multi-cat household. Apparently, I need to get out more. Thankfully, this blog allows my voice to escape.
When my father died at the age of 58, I was 32 and wasn’t ready or prepared for my new life. I wasn’t ready to let go of the quiet champion who had guided me throughout every aspect of my life. I looked to him for everything; I looked to him for the answers to my questions. I looked to him for guidance through every opportunity. I looked to him to help make every decision I faced. Needless to say, I depended upon the security of my father’s guidance completely. I wasn’t ready because I loved him, and because my father championed everything that I was. So, in 1999, when I had to begin answering my own questions, I had to become my own champion and ride into battle alone. No adjective comes close to describing the fear I felt. Nor can I find one to describe the level of uncertainty I felt when I attended beauty school at the age of 35 about 2 ½ years after my father died.
Since then, I’ve certainly detoured from the often-traveled roads, Shy and Uncertain; I’ve gone completely off road and ventured onto some very gravely and rough terrain. But, after repairing many flat tires, I make no apologies for not tightening the lug nuts all the way a few times. I just get out of the car and fix the problem when the ride feels a little wobbly. My proudest choice of detour was to become a Nail Tech. It was a decision I made on my own when opportunity presented itself. When I decided to brave the new worlds of responsibility and accountability, I felt the reins slip into my hands as my father passed the lead to me.
Thanks to my father’s insistence, I have an AA and a BA in English, so hopefully my English skills don’t read like BS. Believe me, I’m not bragging, an English Degree was simply the easiest way for me to get through college. Chronic Depression lurks deeply in my family’s DNA, so the less mental struggling I had to do with a subject, the better. I love English and writing and regularly turned in to my English Instructors the thickest papers out of the class. And, I think I was destined for some kind of relationship with the English language other than geographically. My initials are C.E.I. My father created my name, while waiting in the waiting room, using the grammar rule: I before E, except after C. So, I think I was predestined to have something to do with the English Language.
Therefore, I thought, why not blend these two aspects of my life and blog about my cats since that’s basically what I do, verbally, all day at my job. The conversations I have at work become the fodder for my posts. English skills aren’t required at my job. Not much I can do with an English Degree except go straight back into the classroom and teach or edit someone else’s work (I need to work on my creativity skills). No thank you. I’m pretty proficient. I didn’t do too badly in school and college. This way I can indulge my habit and happiness in two arenas.
My love for cats has been documented back to the sixth grade. We were given the assignment of writing a report on any animal and presenting it to the class. Every student had to choose a different animal. My first choice, as was every other young girl’s in the class, was the horse. There is an age in every young girl’s life when she is deeply in love with horses. All that beauty, power, and freedom under our control are what I am sure attracts each and every one of us girls (I know what you’re thinking, but let’s not go there. Psychologists and Sociologists have written enough on the subject). However, that academic honor went to the blond, beautiful, horse-owner that was the envy of the rest of us unfortunate, preteen females in Mr. Scott’s class. Her name alludes me now, but it was something like, Sunny, Sunshine, Samantha, at least it was something that began with an ‘S’. She was indeed lucky, and made the most of her superior knowledge in front of the class on report day. That ruined my love of horses then and there.
Therefore, sitting dejected at my desk, I was forced to search for another, weaker animal much lower on the beloved evolutionary scale. I thought about it and came up with the Tiger, another large, beautiful animal full of power. However, gaining control over this creature is at the peril of your freedom. And, I put my heart into it if only to prove to the horse goddess that she didn’t have control over me, or rather that her heavenly blessings didn’t bother me in the least.
Another circumstance that helped establish my love of cats early on was my father’s love for only one dog, Jinx. He was a Beagle mix, and according to my father, was the best dog ever. My dad’s family lost Jinx one day while my dad and his siblings were playing across the street from their house. When Jinx saw them playing, he ran into the street and into a passing car. My dad never wanted another dog.
So we grew up with cats, as well as many other pets. Our parents gave my brother and me many different pets, such as assorted rodents that are commonly enjoyed by children: hamsters, mice, rats, and guinea pigs. We even enjoyed ducks, homing pigeons, a tarantula, parakeets, two cockatiels, several rabbits, and, believe it or not, a white dove that lived to be 22 years old. Most often our pets came to us via a cardboard box my father would carry into the house. He would walk into the house, and he’d hand it to us saying, “Here’s something for you to raise.” And, we were always eager and happy to do so. However, as we have either flushed or buried many species in the past, never to cross paths with them again, cats have always remained a statuesque fixture in our household. I can’t imagine my life without cats.
