kitty cat karaoke

If you've been following along, you know tonight was my weekly karaoke night. It's always a fun time, and tonight was no exception. Drink a little (though, I didn't), dance a little (again, I didn't) and sing a little (this, I did.) We even had cake. But as much fun as our Tuesday night crew is, it can't hold a candle to the Friday night bunch at Club Bengay.

Now before you go there, I'll have you know Bengay is not a sexual preference. It's a topical cream, popular with the geriatric set. And Club Bengay knows all about the geriatric set.

Friday karaoke nights reads a lot like 50 Shades of Gray Hair. Me and my crew are the youngsters of the bunch--cougars by modern standards. But this distinction alone made me there something that comes after cougar? Not that I particularly like the connotations of being a cougar--my kids tell me I am, since I married a younger man--but I definitely don't like the idea that there's nothing beyond that. Does this mean I'm doomed to be a cougar for all eternity? I think not.


My girls and I sat around Friday night trying to come up with the evolution of women as cats. I've said it before, men are dogs and women are cats. And as cats, there must be an evolution as one grows up and ages. So we start out as kittens...just barely old enough to flirt, whipping out our claws all willy nilly as the urge strikes. We grow into the domestic house cat, have our families and live happily ever after going through nine lives like underwear. We then mature into cougars, trading in our aging husbands and boyfriends for young pups--donning clothes belonging to our teenage daughters. And then what?

I asked the other cougars in my crew, "what comes next?"

"Leopards?" was the response.

"Right...leopards...because of the age spots!" I concluded. And they all broke into hysterics. But yes, we all agreed, leopards it is. And after that? Once the age spots have all connected the dots? We become panthers. I only hope I'm still purring my way into pantherhood when that time comes around. One can only hope.

Am I being serious, you wonder? Probably not. Like I said, I reject the classification of cougar. I don't want to be called a puma, a leopard, or a panther either. I'd rather not be thrust into something just because of my age. But it was certainly fun to speculate. And to be fair, some of those ladies on Friday night are giving the cougars a run for their money. Or whatever it is cougars run for.

Until the next time...I'll be meowing at home for a few days.

Copyright © 2000-2018, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.
Posted on May 28, 2013 .