Today I realized that I truly have become a crazy cat lady, and I tend to be a little over-reactive at times. I was watching my friend’s two and a half year old at my apartment today. She loves to jump on the bed, my bed is especially good for this since it is on the ground. My cat loves to crawl under the covers of the bed and pretend the outside world does not exist. I’ll give you a moment to put these two loves together and realize that disaster was in everyone’s future. My first thought after 30 lbs of toddler landed on I-have-no-idea-because-my-cat-won’t-get-on-a-scale lbs of cat was, “I have to call her mother to pick her up so I can tend to my cat.” Then I back tracked to what should have been my first thought, “Ask toddler if she is okay then chase my cat down the hall to make sure she is okay.” I put my best calm façade on, so as not to unnecessarily freak out the little one, then preceded to check on everyone involved in the incident. Turned out the toddler was okay. Turned out the cat was also okay, although if you asked her she would probably have a very different response. The fact that the cat ran down the hallway, allowed me to pick her up (mostly so she could more easily glare into my eyes), had a snack, then glared at the toddler as she apologized should have been clues that she was fine and internal freak-out should cease. Yet, the blossoming crazy cat lady in me spent large chunks of time worrying that something awful had actually happened to my precious furry one. Seems my brain likes to worry. Seems my brain also likes to worry about my cat (see “Paranoia” posted on August 23, 2012).