She lives above the bakery on Maple Street Where the frosting air gets stuck in everything And the neighbours all pretend they don’t hear The lullaby of a dozen little kings She calls them names like “Duke” and “Mr. Glass” As if they’ve all got titles in a foreign past And in the evening light she’ll bow to them Like they’re the only things that ever last Oh, she says “I don’t need anyone, I’ve got enough love in these four walls” And I laugh like I understand But I think I understand it all too well Crazy cat lady, crown of fur and dust Talking to the only ones she trusts And if that’s madness, well I guess We’re all just lonely in a different dress She keeps a photograph behind the fridge Of someone who once promised he’d come back But the cats have scratched his face away And she says that’s probably for the best, in fact She hums to them like Sunday church is real Like whiskers are a sacrament you feel And every “meow” becomes a hymn For everything she never learned to heal Oh, she says “I don’t need anyone, I’ve got enough love in these four walls” And I laugh like I understand But I think I understand it all too well Crazy cat lady, saint of second-hand grace With fur on her coat and time on her face If sanity is just being alone and fine Then maybe she’s doing just fine And I walk past her window sometimes at night Where the shadows all purr in candlelight And I swear she looks almost free In a way the rest of us never might be Crazy cat lady Keeper of a softer kind of storm Loved by creatures that don’t ask her to be warm And maybe that’s the only kind of love that doesn’t leave Or maybe I’m just jealous of her ease
