So several of my friends and acquaintances have asked me what the cutoff is for "crazy cat lady". I've answered that I don't think "five" qualifies. Sure, that's more than enough, but they're all rescues and needed a home; that was hard enough to do before the economy nose-dived. (Nose-dove?)
The cast of cats, for those who haven't yet met them:
Daisy is probably around eight right now (which is a complete guess). She had two babies under my front stoop; I brought them in to keep them safe until the city shelter could take them. That was three years ago; the rescue folks fell through and I got attached.
Gonzo is one of Daisy's two babies. He's about three now. He's named after once-and-again Red Sox shortstop Alex Gonzalez, because like his mother he has extra thumbs that make him look like he's wearing a baseball glove. That, and he's insane. He likes climbing -- the higher and more precarious, the better.
Winry is Daisy's other baby. She's my secret favorite, in part because she needed major surgery when she was four months old because I left a window-blind cable around where she could eat it. She's standoffish but can be very sweet to me. She's also the smallest of the cats (until today), yet she can be much more aggressive and brave than the rest of her family.
OJ is a love, as violetcheetah puts it. I consider him a foster. I brought him in because unlike my other strays/ferals, he soon was affectionate with me and he is eminently adoptable. He's on Petfinder, but ... crickets. He's a double-armful of meek sweetness, though lately he's been a little more willing to try to pounce playfully on the "kittens". I do in fact mean to convey that he's a big boy; he's either 14 or 16 pounds, and he's the reason everybody just went on a semi-diet.
Jasper's kind of a jerk. He was one of my regular strays until he showed up on my front stoop too sick to eat. Between having FIV, having had six teeth out, having a mouth condition from the FIV that requires daily steroids to keep him able to eat, having low-grade diabetes from the steroids, and being very aggresive towards all other cats, he's not placeable. He's another one I consider a foster. I kept him on the theory that he wouldn't survive more than a couple of months; it's going on a year now. Thanks to him, I live in a house divided; he gets the downstairs when I'm home and awake, while the other four share the upstairs during that time, everyone separated by a baby-gate-and-cardboard-plus-plexi-stair-g
And then we have Jenny; I just caught her today. She's a weensy little thing, eight pounds but not really even that.
She's not exactly feral, since I was able to pick her up with some planning, but she is not fond of people. She's also pregnant. ::headdesk:: I mean, that's why I brought her in, so that her babies aren't born wild, but still. (Probably not even a year old, unspayed, left to run wild. I hate people so very very much.) So, yes, that makes six ... and counting. I have options for the kittens, and I'm hoping to place rather than keep her, but ... still. Gah.