The Fierce Urgency of Meow

It may come as a surprise to our cat, Angel, that I do not speak cat. Not fluently, anyway. But she keeps talking to us as if we understand and await her each beckoning meow.

(I do not know if her meows can be classified as “beckoning.'” She might be telling me to eff off, but I choose to believe that I understand her various vocalizations as beckoning.)
Read More

The Year of the Cat

(What follows is a re-run of one of the eight most popular cat-related columns published in 2015 in The Gad About Town.)

The stories about Angel’s supreme being-ness are too many to recount and they bore her anyway. Our entire Planet Earth, all four rooms of it—and, really, that’s three rooms too many for anyone, but space is needed for all seven billion humans upon it—are here because she willed it through complete indifference.

Without trying, but after a really deep stare at nothingness, there was tuna, and even better, salmon treats, but there was no one to bring these savories to her. She developed opposable thumbs but was bored with the effect and thus willed opposable thumbs onto someone who could use them to bring her platters of tuna, and even better, salmon treats.
Read More

Hard out Here for a Cat

“Peek-a-boo, I see through you. You’re running a column with my photo to get more paw prints. To get more opposable thumbs pointing upwards. You’re a chore, Mark.” Except she doesn’t call me Mark.

More than once she has given public lectures about the number of chores that occupy a cat’s day. Perhaps you have attended. She says they are very well-attended.
Read More