I’m not so sure a hat with little cat ears quite suits me anymore. But I’ve been wearing my Cat Lady Sweater for a few years now, the silhouettes of cats sometimes mistaken for seals or birds. It’s comfortable if not flattering, and a good bit “When I am Old I Shall Wear Purple.”
No pills or missing buttons, this crazy sweater is sometimes the most respectable item of clothing I can find on mornings I’m dressing for a meeting or interview. And now that I am beyond the point of caring whether others find me attractive, the lack of pills and abundance of buttons sing to me. So if there are to be cats anywhere on my body, expect them on my torso, not my head.
No, my signature topper is already a showstopper, a conversation starter, a bonnet apart from others in the crowd. My red wool hat, fleece-lined, from Missoula, will do quite nicely when I take my stand. And what of my red shoes? Gazing at them now, as I stand at the edge of the icy shore, I’d say they are up to the task. So we start. And I’m taking back the red. Because it suits me.