09/12/2026
Nobody warns you that showing cats is basically paying hundreds of dollars to travel with an ungrateful tiny celebrity who has absolutely no idea he has a career.
Meet Pumpkin.
Triple Grand Champion Highlander.
Beautiful.
Titled.
Experienced show cat.
Also an intact stud male, which will become VERY relevant shortly.
And somewhere between booking the room and packing the car, you have this little moment of clarity:
Wait.
Did I REALLY just book a $200–$400 hotel for the weekend…
PLUS pet fees…
PLUS show entry fees…
PLUS gas…
PLUS food…
PLUS everything else I somehow convinced myself was “necessary”…
Just to show my CAT?
Yes.
Yes, I did.
And apparently I’m doing it again this weekend.
Anyway…
Apparently Pumpkin is fighting for his life because I approached him with a comb.
The night before a show:
Me: “Pumpkin, we just need to get you cleaned up.”
Pumpkin: “So this is how I die.”
Sir, I am brushing you.
You are not being waterboarded.
Then we move on to the nails.
Suddenly this grown man has discovered strength I didn’t know was physically possible.
Four legs.
Twenty opinions.
Absolutely ZERO cooperation.
I’m holding him like an alligator while he’s twisting around looking at me like:
“I TRUSTED YOU.”
Buddy, you literally have to sit in a cage tomorrow while strangers judge your beauty. I’m TRYING TO HELP YOUR CAREER.
Eventually Pumpkin is gorgeous.
Coat perfect.
Ears clean.
Nails done.
Freshly bathed.
Looking like the Champion he is.
And this is where owning an intact show male becomes a special kind of character-building experience.
Because Pumpkin looks at his freshly washed coat and apparently thinks:
“Oh, you bathed me?”
SPRAY.
“Let me p*e right here and LAY IN IT.”
PUMPKIN.
WHY.
So I clean him AGAIN.
Then I lovingly put up his beautiful clean show hammock.
Pumpkin:
“Oh wow, Mom. Is this for me?”
Yes, baby. 🥹
SPRAY.
SIR.
THAT WAS CLEAN FOR FOUR MINUTES.
Nothing quite prepares you for spending all that time getting an intact male show-ready just for him to immediately marinate himself in stud cat.
Meanwhile, me?
Sweating.
Hair stuck to my forehead.
One nail probably broken.
Questioning every decision that brought me to this moment.
But we made it.
Now it’s show morning.
I have packed approximately 73 items for a CAT.
Show cages? Yes.
Grooming supplies? Yes.
Food? Yes.
Water? Yes.
Litter? Yes.
Toys? Yes.
Paperwork? Yes.
Three times the amount of clean bedding because SOMEONE cannot be trusted with nice things?
Absolutely.
Emergency supplies for situations that have literally never happened to me but COULD? Obviously.
My own stuff?
Forgot my phone charger.
Perfect.
We get to the show hall and Pumpkin is sitting there looking magnificent.
People walk by.
“Oh my gosh, he’s beautiful!”
Thank you.
You should’ve seen him six hours ago when a Q-tip nearly ended our relationship and he celebrated surviving his bath by p*eing on himself to smell like a stud he is.
Then his number gets called.
I put him in the judging cage.
And suddenly…
THIS MAN IS A PROFESSIONAL.
The same cat who acted like grooming violated the Geneva Convention is now stretching out for the judge like:
“Hello. Yes. You may admire me.”
Judge touches his ears.
Fine.
Judge checks his tail.
Fine.
Judge handles his feet.
FINE.
Excuse me, Pumpkin?
Where was this cooperative attitude when YOUR MOTHER was getting assaulted over a nail trim???
Then the toy comes out.
Now he’s performing.
He’s cute.
He’s charming.
He’s showing off.
He’s making me look like a liar.
And I’m standing outside the ring thinking:
Ohhhhh, so you CAN behave.
Apparently you just don’t work for free.
And all of this is with ONE cat.
Now, what if you bring more than one?
Oh, it gets even more fun. 😂
Now one cat needs grooming, another one is rolling in the litter you JUST cleaned, somebody’s number is being called, another cat has decided today is the day they no longer know how to behave, and you’re halfway across the show hall trying to remember WHICH CAT IS SUPPOSED TO BE IN WHICH RING.
At some point you’re carrying a cat under one arm, your last shred of sanity in the other, hearing numbers being called over the speaker and thinking…
Why do I do this voluntarily?
My sanity isn’t even questionable anymore.
It’s gone.
I have officially passed “crazy cat lady” and been promoted to BEYOND CRAZY CAT LADY.
And then comes the final.
You’re sitting there silently doing mathematics that would concern an accountant.
Okay, he already has this many points…
He needs this final…
That cat is already a Grand…
Was that an Allbreed?
WAIT, WHAT RING ARE WE IN?
Then Pumpkin gets called.
Suddenly every dollar spent, every mile driven, every broken nail, every wrestling match over grooming, every freshly sprayed hammock, and every questionable life decision is completely forgotten.
You’re ridiculously proud of him.
Show ends.
You’re exhausted.
The cats are exhausted.
Your bank account is exhausted.
You load your entire traveling cat circus back into the car and finally head home.
And before you’ve even unpacked everything, you catch yourself looking at the show calendar thinking:
“Ooooo… that one is only 7 hours away.”
And THAT is when you realize there’s no saving you.
Beyond crazy cat lady confirmed.
See y’all at the next show. 😂🐱🏆
