You Might be a Crazy Cat Lady If …

In this collection of humorous short stories, you’ll meet the cats who kept the author sane during life’s trying moments. Those same furry friends also drove her to the brink of crazy cat lady status. Janet questions if she’s soft in the heart or soft in the head.

You’ll meet more than 20 kitties including Lucy who started Janet’s love affair with cats. Lucy, a partially paralyzed kitty, competed with Janet for the house title of Best Mouse Hunter. Janet used a live-trap and practiced catch-and-release. Lucy’s method was catch-and-eat, and she left only a trophy tail as proof of her prowess.

There are tales of Buddy, aka Basketball Cat, who couldn’t say no to snacking; Wild Cat, who took more than a year to tame; and Frosty Flake, a foster kitten with attitude who never left. You’ll also learn about Janet’s trip to an animal shelter to pick up four kittens, which resulted in 16 kittens in carriers being packed into her car.

Each story features black and white photographs.

You Might be a Crazy Cat Lady if… takes the crazy out of the cliché Crazy Cat Lady and replaces it with compassion. It makes an ideal gift for anyone obsessed with our feline friends.

You Might be a Crazy Cat Lady If … (Vol.2)

You Might be a Crazy Cat Lady If … (Vol. 2) is a collection of humorous and heartwarming short stories about the stray, foster and resident cats who share the author’s home.

I promise I won’t bring any more cats into the house. I promise.

That was the vow I made to myself when I realized I had too many furry four-legged friends. I won’t reveal the exact number of freeloaders in my care, but I will admit I’m lousy at keeping commitments to myself.

I don’t follow my own advice either. I’m good at telling other people what to do if a stray cat shows up on their doorstep: if you can’t find its owner at least get it fixed. TNR, Trap-Neuter-Return. But when a stray showed up on my porch, what did I do? I popped open a can of Friskies and named the visitor Fred. What do I have now? Kittens. Not sweet, adorable little fluffballs. Wild, mischievous hellions.

Not only do I have unadoptable orphans, I have The Geriatric Club, soon to be The Assisted Living Club. After my divorce, when I found myself queen of my own home with no hubby limiting my cat intake, I went on an adoption spree. Those cuties are now senior citizens who require medications, demand canned cat food eight times a day and occasionally forget how to use a litter box.

The inn is full.
The budget is bankrupt.
Maybe now I’ll listen to myself.
Proceeds from this book pays for mountains of kitty litter, cases of canned cat food and keeps the cats’ veterinarians in business.