Hazard Rating: High
Classification: Identity Transformation Event
Status: Closed
Casualties: One dating profile
Survivors: One cat
There comes a point in every woman’s life when she asks herself an important question:
“What if I tried online dating?”
That is usually followed by a second question:
“How difficult could it possibly be?”
The answer, as it turns out, is:
Much more difficult than becoming a lesbian cat.
Several years ago, I joined Dating.com.
My expectations were modest.
I wasn’t looking for a billionaire.
I wasn’t looking for a prince.
I wasn’t even looking for a man who owned a vineyard in Tuscany and wrote poetry by moonlight.
I was merely looking for a reasonably functional human male.
The bar was so low it was practically a tripping hazard.
Yet somehow, Dating.com managed to limbo beneath it.
Within minutes of creating my profile, my inbox exploded.
Men from every corner of the globe were suddenly desperate to speak to me.
The speed at which they appeared was remarkable.
My Spidey senses tingled when every message followed the same general pattern:
“Hello beautiful”
“Hello dear”
“You seem very special”
As I began interacting with a few of the men, a pattern emerged.
Every interaction seemed to require credits.
Credits to read messages.
Credits to send messages.
Credits to continue conversations.
Credits to open letters and “gifts” the men sent.
Presumably credits to blink.
At this point I began to suspect that the platform’s true purpose was not matchmaking.
It was harvesting credit card information with the enthusiasm of a combine harvester during wheat season.
Naturally, I decided to leave.
This should have been simple.
Normal websites allow you to close an account and move on with your life.
Dating.com appeared to view this as an optional feature.
The experience felt less like cancelling an account and more like trying to resign from a secret society.
At my wits’ end, it suddenly occurred to me:
If I could not escape as myself, perhaps I could reinvent myself.
History is full of great transformations.
The caterpillar becomes a butterfly.
The tadpole becomes a frog.
The frog becomes a prince (although sometimes it’s the other way around).
And apparently, I was about to become a cat.
First, I changed my profile photo.
Out went my human face.
In came my cat.
I have to say that she’s far more photogenic than I have ever been.
And she had better cheekbones.
Next, I changed my name.
If one is going to become a cat, one should commit fully.
I became:
Kitty Purry.
At this point, I was no longer sure whether I was deleting a dating profile or launching a music career.
Finally, I adjusted my dating preferences.
Since I was now a cat, I reasoned that normal rules no longer applied.
I selected:
Interested in women.
And with that, my transformation was complete.
I had entered the platform as a heterosexual woman.
I left as a lesbian cat.
Investigator’s Notes
No cats were harmed during this identity transformation event.
The author has since returned to being human.
Kitty Purry’s current whereabouts remain unknown.
Monday Made Me Do It 