Frank’s Birth Story

I’m a dog person, but I got a cat this week.

It all started one 99 degree “fall” morning in Los Angeles, when I announced to my friends that I really wanted to get a hairless cat. I was met with contention. They all thought I was insane and wouldn’t even listen to my reasoning. But I really wanted one because, on the feline spectrum of reference, I identify most with hairless cats.

Hear me out.

Hairless cats are undoubtedly uglier than all other cats and still require a LOT of work and maintenance. You have to wash those things all the time to make sure that their skin doesn’t get infected and clean their ears and smother them with a lot of attention and companionship or else they quite literally shrivel up and get depressed. 

You guys. That’s me. I’m a hairless cat.

This isn’t some woe-is-me I-think-so-low-of-myself type of statement. We all know I think I’m awesome. I have a blog which, quite literally, means I think so highly of myself and my thoughts that I believe people should take time out of their day to read what I have to say. And I don’t think I’m ugly. I’m always convinced that my waiters have crushes on me when, in reality, it is just their job to be nice to me. I think they’re a little extra nice to me, though. Because they have crushes on me. Because I’m awesome.

But, this? What you see here, people, requires WORK. It’s not effortless. And you know girls who are effortless. I can get to their level, sure, but I need time. If an event is coming up, I book out a full week for preparations which involves avoiding carbs and getting my nails done and plucking random hairs and buying a new dress and booking a blow out and texting exes “Miss you” so they text back “Miss you too” to prove I still got it.

I will then arrive at a friend’s house to pick her up, she’ll say “oh shit I forgot that was happening,” throw on an old dress and instantly be at (or above — usually above) my 7-day-prepped level. That bitch is effortlessly pretty. Nobody can deny the beauty. She’s like a Persian kitten.

I’m a hairless cat.

Back to my day. On this particular morning, I found myself surrounded by my Persian kitten friends who don’t understand what it’s like to be a hairless cat. They didn’t get why I wanted to bring something so off-beat and ugly into my home. This only made me want the cat more. Me and this hairless cat were going to teach these Persian kittens what it is like to be one of US! It’s tough work!! It’s not effortless!!! We walk around the house naked NOT because we want to, but because none of our clothes fit/we were born without hair!!


You and me against the world, buddy.

I was a determined woman. I wanted my hairless cat and I wanted it now. Well, actually, I wanted breakfast first. It was 10am. I look forward to breakfast starting at 6pm the night before. I get out of bed solely for the promise of food. And coffee. And the Today Show. But after my pesto egg sandwich with delicious 12grain wheat bread and a side of Matt Lauer, I WANTED THE DAMN CAT.

We went to our local Adopt & Shop rescue adoption place and I truly felt like there was maaaaaaaaaybe a 5% chance I would leave with an animal. First off, I am a dog person, but I know that I could not handle a dog right now. Only one of us in the apartment can eat the scraps that fall off everyone’s dinner and I’m not giving that luxury up.

Secondly, I asked the lady right when we walked in if they had hairless cats and she said no. She said that hairless cats are actually super in demand and expensive so they don’t typically end up in shelters. I turned to hiss at my Persian kitten friends and said “TAKE THAT, BITCHES!” but they were confused and the lady was confused so I pretended to be confused too. Who just said that? Weird.

We played with a few cats. Word to the wise – don’t go play with kittens if you aren’t planning on taking one home. If you aren’t convinced by how adorable they are, you will be convinced when you watch their small bodies be put back into the even smaller little cages that they live in. Me and my Persian kitten friends even traveled to a “Catty Wagon” truck at a local farmer’s market where the shelter was trying to get people to take kittens home with their free-range olives.

And that’s where I saw him. My mind went foggy and the next thing I knew, I was signing a bunch of papers to take him home. I loved him. And you know how they say people look like their pets? It’s true. We look alike. Mostly because we’re both super white.


He also has these two different colored eyes which I thought was cool and off-beat and, if I couldn’t have a hairless cat, at least I could have a cat with something off-kilter about him. I realized on the car ride home that his deformity was not something that made him ugly or weird, it actually made him cooler. Like Megan Fox’s bum thumb.


Anyway, I now have a cat. His name is Frank. Or Frankie. Or Fr-awwwn-k. Or Bosworth. Or Buddy. Or NO DON’T EAT THAT. And about 50 people I’ve told have said to me: “That’s cool, but I don’t like cats.” I agree. I don’t like cats either. Nobody actually likes cat. But, I like him.


Any tips on when it’s a good time to break it to him that he’s adopted, let me know.

One thought on “Frank’s Birth Story

  1. Frank picked the best human possible to live out his days. Congrats on your new relationship. PS every single paragraph knocked me out….so cute and funny!

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