I have a deep affection for kittens over babies.

As someone who has been trying to conceive for the past two years, I appreciate children, but have you ever laid eyes on a kitten?

At times, I ponder whether adopting several cats could be a simpler and more affordable route than seeking an egg donor.

However, that might edge me into the realm of the so-called crazy cat lady—often depicted as a lonely, childless woman whose feline companions drive her to the brink of madness.

This is a stereotype, certainly, but its grasp on our collective consciousness is strong, much like the persistent hold of a cat's claws.

The notion of the crazy cat lady serves as an easy insult aimed at women who deviate from societal expectations, whether by choice or circumstance. While it may seem amusing to embrace this label—"yes, I’m a crazy cat lady"—the implications are far more harmful than they appear.

This stereotype affects not only women but also cats.

Beware of becoming a modern-day Eleanor Abernathy.

Despite research indicating that women without children tend to be happier, they are still portrayed as sorrowful souls who substitute cats for children.

The cat lady archetype continues to be utilized as a method of societal control over women, warning them of the consequences of failing to marry and have children.

Take Eleanor Abernathy from The Simpsons, known as the Crazy Cat Lady.

She was a Yale and Harvard graduate aspiring to be both a doctor and a lawyer, yet she ended up as a crazy old woman who throws her cats at anyone who approaches.

Similarly, the Saturday Night Live sketch featuring Robert DeNiro as a woman named Margie illustrates the stereotype, portraying her as someone who lost her dreams after a horse kicked her, leading her to adopt cats.

Though these characters exist in a comedic context, their popularity—Abernathy appeared in 42 episodes—reflects the deep-rooted nature of this stereotype in our culture.

This stereotype also translates into real-life sentiments.

Recently, J.D. Vance, a politician, made headlines for claiming the US is "being run by childless cat ladies" who are unconcerned about the nation's future because they lack children.

This comment resurfaced as it seemed to target Vice President Kamala Harris, who has no biological children (though she does have stepchildren).

Critics swiftly discredited Vance's remarks, highlighting how the crazy cat lady stereotype continues to be used to demean women, particularly those who are single and child-free.

Personally, it can be exhausting to justify my fondness for cats, which is entirely unrelated to my child-free status, as I've loved them since childhood.

This leads me to question: at what point does one transition from being a cat lover to a crazy cat lady? When does it become sad instead of endearing?

And why does this label not extend to men? After all, 48% of Millennial men are cat owners compared to 35% of women.

If owning cats equates to being crazy, why aren’t there families on porches shouting incoherently and tossing cats at passersby?

Why is this label reserved for women of a certain age?

It is revealing who we designate as crazy cat ladies. For those like me—who desire children but face challenges—even the gentler jokes can sting.

Whenever someone comments that "cats are easier than kids" or that "being a crazy cat lady is way more enjoyable," it doesn’t feel playful; it serves as a reminder of my reproductive struggles.

I don't want to feel like a failure; I simply want a cat because I adore them.

This isn’t particularly surprising. I consider myself a strong woman, and historically, strong women have often been accompanied by cats.

Cats and women have had a long-standing association.

In ancient cultures—when women experienced greater freedom—the bond between cats and women was viewed positively.

Consider Freya, the Norse goddess of love and fertility, who traveled in a chariot drawn by cats, or the Egyptian goddess Bastet, depicted as a half-cat, half-woman figure of fertility and domesticity.

Ironically, both goddesses were symbols of fertility and had children.

However, the advent of Christianity marked a decline in this association, particularly during the witch hunts of the 17th century.

Historically, so-called witches were merely knowledgeable, often older women—herbalists and midwives—who possessed valuable skills.

Knowledgeable women have always posed a threat, leading the church to label them as witches. This suppression of female power often included their feline companions.

The initial connection between witches and cats likely stemmed from folklore about witches transforming into cats to attack men. The association worsened in the Middle Ages when cats were deemed satanic.

This stereotype has persisted, so much so that we still relate witches to cats, a notion familiar to those who have read Meg and Mog.

In summary, wherever women—especially those who resist societal norms—are present, cats have often been close companions, and we have turned them into subjects of horror narratives.

Moreover, the crazy cat lady stereotype negatively impacts another group: the cats themselves.

This is particularly true for black cats, often unfairly associated with misfortune, and they are frequently linked to witches.

This connection is especially troubling given that approximately half a million cats are euthanized each year in the US, with black cats disproportionately affected.

The myth of the crazy cat lady is doubly tragic when considering the mental health benefits of cats; they can enhance your well-being rather than detract from it.

In essence, the crazy cat lady trope should have faded away long ago; it never should have existed in the first place.

Regarding my own child-free life, while I once had a cat before fertility issues arose, cats currently don't fit into my lifestyle due to space constraints and frequent travel.

Yet, I look forward to a time when I can have a family—whether that includes children or not. At that point, you might be tempted to label me as a crazy cat lady.

But I would argue that it would be one of the soundest decisions I've ever made.

This article was brought to you by Life Without Children, a platform dedicated to sharing stories about living without children, whether by choice or circumstance.

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