Queen of the Catnip; King of the Scratching Post

Queen of the Catnip; King of the Scratching Post: A Paean to the
Cat
By Monika McDole

June is Adopt a Shelter Cat month, and in honor of the noble feline and
all the he's and she's of the species that I've loved in my life,
today's essay is about the wonderful, marvelous, absolutely spiffy,
Cat.

I love cats. Cats are the only animals in the world who can totally
validate your self-esteem one minute, and leave you emotionally bruised
the next. They're like every human's relationship nightmare bound up in
one, furry, be-whiskered package.
There's nothing like a cat to ensure that you aren't co-dependent. Cats
are wonderfully supportive, affectionate, clever, insightful, mystical
creatures -- if they feel like it. If not, bug off, or feel the wrath
of the mini-jungle cat.
But overall, I much prefer the company of cats to the company of dogs.
Dogs (bless their sloppy hearts) are sycophants of the highest order.
Yes-men everywhere could take a page from the dog's book. Cats are much
more genuine and subtle. Kind of like the aristocrats of old, they make
you want them to like you, to notice you, to legitimize your existence
with a regal nod of the head or squeeze of the eyelid. You feel so good
if your cat purrs on your lap, or rubs noses with you, or curls up
quietly next to you in bed. It makes you happy because it doesn't
happen all the time. As a matter of fact, more likely than not, this
spurt of attention will have been preceded by a long period wherein
your cat didn't so much look at you when you came in the room; he
looked through you. No one can make you feel like a nonentity better
than a cat can.
And like any good aristocrat, a cat can inspire you to go through great
privations without even obviously encouraging you in that direction.
For instance, as I write this, I am sitting in an extremely
uncomfortable chair that I dragged in from another room; my fiance is
sitting at his computer on a battered old swivel-stool with no back and
squeaky wheels, and the one, the sole, comfortable executive ,
infinitely adjustable, ergonomically correct chair we own is currently
hosting a napping Montague, the black mackerel tabby who is the King of
my Heart.
One of the endearing things about cats, of course, is that they start
out as kittens. Excuse me for a minute while I wax rhapsodic, but I
really have to say that there is nothing in this world that is cuter
than a little, itty-bitty kitten. There just isn't. Humans look like
drunk, angry grubs as babies; horses look like they're 75\% leg, and as
far as I'm concerned, that just leaves kittens in the race. Puppies are
terribly cute, too, but they're really hard to housebreak, which knocks
them out of the running in my estimation. A kitten, well, just point it
to a litter box (with sides low enough for it to climb into) and poof,
they're trained. As a matter of fact, they'll probably thank you for
introducing them to a new plaything (the elan and hauteur of a grown
cat is markedly absent in kittens). Anyone who doesn't fall down
laughing at the sight of a kitten madly mining down through the Tidy
Cat with single-minded dedication and steely resolve is probably dead,
and certainly isn't worth keeping on your Christmas card list.
Cats are wonderfully droll humorists. I would say without reserve that
some of the biggest laughs I've ever enjoyed in my life have come from
one of my cats. Cats are the absolute masters of hilarious capers which
then metamorphose into grand gestures of dignity and aplomb. For
example, witness Lily, Mistress of the Couch, whizzing, ZIP!, past my
office door, headed to the kitchen. Now count to 10 and, ZIP!, she
races past the office door back to the bedroom. "Hmm," I think. "She
must have gone for a quick lap around the house." But then, within a
minute: ZIP!, a gray blur streaks past again.
And again, and again.
ZIP!
ZIP!
What the heck? I get up, go to the doorway and look out.
There is Lily Lightwhiskers, calm as you please, laid out in perfect
peace next to the couch. She looks at you with that
butter-wouldn't-melt expression which for the merest instant shifts to
a devilish, "Made ya look" grin, then melts back into tranquility and
calm, the only proof that I wasn't hallucinating the whole thing being
that her sides are heaving ... just a little.
And now, I feel compelled to point out the obvious, since this essay
is, after all, in honor of the many wonderful cats languishing (sadly
most of them more "scared stiff" than "languishing", admittedly) in
shelters all over the world: Cats are great companions, but they are
companions, not just pets who can be relied upon the fend for
themselves when you get tired of feeding them, or allowed to breed
because kittens are so cute, and the kids would love to have some to
play with.
The truth of the matter is that there are more cats than good homes for
them, thanks in large part to all those folks out there who think that
they aren't contributing to the problem if they let Fluffy have "just"
one litter. Don't kid yourself. I won't get graphic about it, but let
me just tell you that most kittens who go to "good homes"(as in "Free
to...") don't wind up living out their lives in a happy sun-filled
reverie.
So even if you never do another thing on this earth for another being,
spay and neuter your cats, please, please, please.
And cherish the kitties you have as the furry aristocrats that they
are. If you're an animal lover with room for one more, adopt a kitty
from your local shelter this weekend.
It may be the only time you get to entertain royalty in your home. Or
better yet, have royalty entertain you.
And that's something you don't want to miss.

Copyright 2002 Monika McDole. To read other essays by Monika, visit:
http://www.monikamcdole.com/cgi-bin/blosxom
Monika welcomes your comments. She can be reached at:
mmcdole@heavyhorse.com