Oh, I guffawed when I read the sign.
And then I wondered, “Wait, is this a clever joke or has the Naughty Cat Cafe been previously mistaken for an establishment of the night?”
I’m here to report that I don’t know. You’re welcome.
As we entered our fifth month of life on the roads of RV land, we found ourselves spending a week in Fairplay, SC, followed by a week in Georgia but just across the river from Chattanooga, TN. As such we ended up in all three states throughout the two-week period.
I strive to include at least one animal saga in each blog post, because—say it with me— “I. Love. Animals.” You too? . . . We also know there exists a fine line between animal educational opportunities and activities that further animal abuse or neglect, so not every animal story I’ve run into out here has had the happy ending we all crave.
This time it does, though.
With the Naughty Cat Cafe there was zero doubt in my mind that the cats who land here experience safety, joy, love, and beauty while they await a forever home. Hence the smile plastered on my face for the 45 minutes I spent onsite.
Making friends with the cats at this cafe was a no guilt, no sadness, all joy kinda occasion!
I know many of you scoff amongst yourselves about my unsecret Pokemon Go habit, but I’ll have you know that I only discovered the Naughty Cat Cafe because it has a pokestop out front! So there. The game IS useful in everyday life after all. [Don’t say natty natty boo boo. Don’t say it, Tami.]
Along the curb out front, one finds her/himself immediately smacked with the truth of the matter by a blaring “30 Cats Inside” sign. I presume these words engender different reactions in humans of different types and temperaments, ranging from terror to indifference to ecstasy.
I, for one, am amongst the percentage of the populace who would run, don’t walk (ok, I walked), immediately into that building. “Sign me up for meeting each and every one of these 30 cats!” I announced in my head as I sidled shyly up to the counter.
“Derp,” I said.
“Why hello, have you been here before?” asked the nice fellow behind the counter.
“Derp. Cats?” I mustered, looking around suspiciously at the cat-free room. Had I been hornswaggled?
The kindly gentleman then explained that I needed to pay $15.00 to see the cats (what?) but since they would be closing in 45 minutes I could get a discount of half off. And a “free” soda. So there was that. I paid the man his $7.50—because never let it be said that I’m above paying to make some new cat friends—but I have an opinion about the practice.
I could be wrong, but I think it would be better for cat cafes to ask for donations instead of charging a fee to visit. Why? Because it takes away from the beauty of the experience. Seeing and loving and caring for companion animals like cats is a gift both to them and to ourselves. When we HAVE to pay for something we’d probably happily donate for, it adds a feeling of coercion or force—these are not positive emotions I want to associate with interacting with cats.
I imagine the cafe isn’t a nonprofit and so doesn’t want to be seen as raising money, which I get, but…if I lived there I’d rarely go, because I would HAVE to pay. Yet if it was donation-based (or even one beverage minimum)? I’d stop by often. So they’d probably get $100s a year from me vs. $15. JMO. Let me know what you think.
The storefront entry room where they sell food and drinks was separate from the cat rooms due to state regs, but after you get your snack and drink you’re welcome to take them back into the cat room with you.
“Tunnels” to the litter room
The place was Ah-Mazingly Delightful, I’m not gonna lie! The cats interacted with each other and the humans in the room, and their curiosity made them a joy to be around. Each area was super tidy (I don’t know how they do it…) with nary a whiff of cat litter or other odors present! Also, the cat entryways to the litter box room [above]? Ingenious.
I plopped myself down on the floor and played with one intrepid kitty after another. Cats find my pokemon gotcha cord especially fascinating, and I’m able to lure quite a few my way with said device. Indeed, if you’re in the area and a cat lover, definitely check out The Naughty Cat Cafe and share your experience with us.
Rhonda’s one of those women you want to envy because she’s just so damn efficient, not to mention personable, attractive, kind, and friendly. The woman gets Schize DONE. But you know if you allow yourself to envy her, you’re just being a beeyotch. It’s wiser to befriend her, bask in her aura, and then siphon a little of the magic off for yourself when she’s not looking. That’s what I do, anyway. Shhh…
Rhonda works for a children’s nonprofit, and in her “free time,” she gives the rest of her energy to the animals through her organization, Freedom Train Transport and Pit Stop. See what I mean? Disgusting. I’m tired just typing it. Looking to donate for end of year? Rhonda’s org is a great choice.
Yes, We Landed in Bigfoot Country
Our campground in South Carolina helpfully alerted us to a nearby Sasquatch Festival for that coming Saturday. Well, that might be a lark, eh?
And that’s how curiosity lured us into an occasion which proved nothing if not eye-opening. The two most important tips I learned from my trip to the Sasquatch Festival are:
1. Oh, people really believe this stuff? Confusion sets in, and then I finally realize…
2. Don’t go to the Sasquatch Festival. Well, unless you already have a Sasquatch at home, then the networking opportunities could indeed be invaluable. Also, I suspect you’d flourish there if you’re a follower of Q, or you believe that drumpf won the election, has committed no crimes, and is going after pedophiles. [Maybe to shake their hand?]
I had words with a guy at a trumper booth, and it dawned on me that—there’s a small chance—people who believe in Sasquatch are also um, prime targets for the grifts of a Psycopath-in-Chief.
The South Carolina campground left a lot to be desired. We were dumped in an area of mostly full time or seasonal renters, who tend to pile up a plethora of unsightly outside detritus. Junk. On the bright side, it was super quiet in that section because many of the renters weren’t around much, and we found ourselves sleeping peacefully until 11:00 a.m. our first morning there.
This was also the first campground to LOCK their bathrooms at night, after an apparent toilet paper theft spree. There’s always that one person who ruins it for everyone—forcing innocents to poop in the woods. I mean, most of us have bathrooms in our campers, but still…
Speaking of Doody
I know what you’re thinking. Oh, goddess, is she gonna tell us about her bowel movements again? No, because I’m doing better in that area, thank you very much. If you need more details, DM me. I’ll be standing by.
But, this may or may not be an actual conversation that occurred in our camper:
Me, realizing Joe bought the crappy small trash bags when we agreed we wouldn’t buy them anymore, grumble, grumble: “Joe, why’d you buy those lame trash bags again?”
Joe, replying from the bathroom: “Well, they were a lot cheaper!”
Me: “But we agreed we were gonna get the better ones next time.”
Joe, sounding frazzled: “I can’t poop when you’re yelling at me.”
Me, didn’t see that comin’: [Crack up, shut my trap, and concede the argument.] What else can I do?
And that, folks, is a premiere example of just how little breathing room there is in a camper.
Take a gander at my new bear shirt, above [my third, and I’ll keep collecting until I’m eaten by a bear for the ultimate in irony.]
We were at a campground with slim pickins’ for book trades, so I decided to read 127 Hours Between a Rock and a Hard Place, a true story about a hiker and his life-or-death experience. As soon as I showed the book to Joe he said, “Oh, is that the one where the guy [fill in the blank with what Joe blurted that spoiled the surprise.]”
I looked at him in shock. “Dude, I’m just NOW picking up this book, why’re you gotta ruin it for me like that?”
He feigned an innocent look. “Well, I figured you saw the movie.”
“No, no, I didn’t, which is why I thought I’d read the book. Now it’s completely RUINED!”
Then I read the book, and he was right about what happened, and it wasn’t ruined. It seems weird to say I “enjoyed the book” if said book is about a hardship endured, but the story was well-written and I just had to know what happened next. In fact, we watched the movie later and I definitely think the book is better. You?
We wandered a small town named Seneca, which featured a walkway with cat paintings and stories about Ram Cat Alley. The tale goes that in the early 1900s, shop owners began meeting the train every morning to pick up orders of meat and fish and wheel them back to their stores. The accompanying fragrances of the cargo attracted so many cats that someone said, “Why, you couldn’t ram one more cat into this alley.” And so it was christened.
We browsed Helena, Georgia, where we braved an alpine slide (I used the brakes like a weenie), switched sides on the “insert face here” sign (hubba hubba), and Joe ingested some disappointing German food.
I, on the other hand, savored my cinnamon-and-sugar-coated almonds, a sweet reminder of the Bayern Germany festivals we frequented in the late 1980s.
We agreed to yet another boat ride (is this 5 or 6?) on the Southern Belle in Chattanooga, and upon further reflection I might soon be all boated out. I mean, how many amazing lake houses that I don’t own do I need to see? Fine, maybe just a few more then.
We also rode the Lookout Mountain Incline Railway, the top section of which is ostensibly the steepest in the world, according to our conductor. If I’m wrong, you’ll have to take it up with him.
The incline deposited us at the top of Lookout Mountain, and then we hiked a trail through the Point Park National Park before hopping on a later incline back down the mountain.
Last but not least we spent hours at Rock City, which surprised me in that it was unlike anything I’d experienced to date. I almost didn’t go because it seemed there’d be lots of high rocks to scramble over or heights to fear. It’s not like that. A one-mile walk carries visitors through caves and slender passageways, imaginative rock gardens and carvings, or visions in art and verse; in fact, there were only a few spots where the heights were too much for me. I was able to duck back as far as possible and scoot on by the scary part without dying.
I found Fairyland Caverns to be the most magical place, whereas I’d wrongly presumed it would only provide a “Wow Factor” for children. Nope! The artists painted scenes from fairytales into cave recesses, and by the second or third one I found my chin dropping at the level of detail that went into each piece.
See Rock City! [I wasn’t paid to say that, but it was painted on lots of barns in the area, and now it just comes out. Their advertising dollars at work.]
Happy Thanksgiving to All who Celebrate
We’ve just hit Texas (my blog’s a couple stops behind), and will be attempting to create a scaled-back version of Thanksgiving dinner for two in a kitchen made for one. I’m sure it will all be fine…fine…fine…
Have You Started Your Holiday Shopping Yet?
I offer signed copies of all the books you see to your right, and they make great gifts for the animal lovers in your family. Just visit my site at tamirathayne.com to browse or make your selections.
Tamira Thayne's "Untethered" 