Cats

(Note: I'm replacing "that" with "who" in this piece because cats are more human than some humans I've known.)

I once had a cat who fetched.

I'd pulled a plastic ring off the top of a milk carton and tossed it across the room for my cat Sophia to play with, then sat down on the couch with a cold glass of 1%. A moment later, she walked up with the ring in her mouth and dropped it onto my right shoe. When I threw it into another room, she reappeared and dropped it in the same spot. This turned into a game that lasted about 15 minutes. It was great, because I'd actually always wanted a dog.

Cats are like people because they each have their own little rituals, some bordering on OCD. I'm currently catsitting Lucy, who belongs to a couple I'm friends with who are taking some out of town trips this year. Lucy is neurotic. She can't have breakfast without someone standing beside her to watch as she eats. If I walk away, she follows me and scratches on the nearest wall until I go back and resume my post. This is interesting enough, but she also has to be stroked while she eats. If I stop, she stands right at my feet and meows until I stroke her some more; then she returns to her bowl and is happy as long as I keep stroking her. I think Lucy is just having her way with me, because two days after my friends returned from their last trip and I came over to visit, the husband said, "What have you done to my cat?" Lucy just smiled serenely from her favorite chair.

Lucy does have another quirk they'd told me about in advance. When she scratches on the sliding glass door leading to the backyard, she doesn't go out when I open it. She has to stand there for about thirty seconds while she decides whether this is actually a good idea. Eventually she goes out and has a grand time doing nothing in the shade of a fence. It's the same when she wants to come back in. This is another major life decision, during which I eventually grow old and die. But I might have nipped this one in the bud. Whether she's coming or going, I only keep the door open for about ten seconds before closing it again. After doing this a couple of times, she takes the hint and marches right out (or in) the first time. We're at the point now where she isn't even waiting. I may have created a breakfast monster, but I've solved the sliding door problem for my friends. I have a way with cats. Maybe Robert Redford could play me in the movie.

I know people who hate all cats. I can understand this, as most of them have never owned a cat and cats have a bad reputation, sort of like pit bulls but without the body count. My argument is the same as a pit bull owner's -- if you love on them enough, they'll learn to love and not hate. I've never known a cat who hated, anyway. The word for a hateful cat is actually "finicky," and that can easily be dealt with through a little time and patience (hence, Lucy).

Like people, cats have their famous counterparts. The comic strip character Krazy Kat was before my time, but I've heard of his perilous exploits, what with Ignatz always throwing bricks at his head. Of course, Krazy was a celebrity, so a stunt double was drawn for the violent scenes. I think that was what prompted the ASPCA to begin monitoring comic strips and cartoons to ensure that "no cats were harmed in the making of this feature." That's why Tom and Jerry and Tweety and Sylvester used a lot of CGI in their work. How else to explain how Tom and Sylvester survived all those bombs, frying pans, and the bulldog next door?

The first cat I heard of as a child was Top Cat, or T.C. to his friends. T.C. was cool, like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape. He was a wiseacre whose eyes no one could pull the wool over. He lived in an alley and presided over his gang of humorous cronies (the only name I remember now is Benny the Ball). Top Cat was inspired by the crafty Sergeant Bilko from The Phil Silvers Show. He was voiced by Arnold Stang, whose own persona was anything but cool. But he was a funny actor whose service station was memorably demolished by Jonathan Winters in It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. T.C. himself never would've stood for that. Amazingly, Top Cat only ran for a single season in the early '60s. To me it seems he was around for my entire childhood. I guess that's the impact early role models can have on an impressionable youth.

I like just about all breeds of cats, though I prefer the ones that don't leave a shag carpet all over the house. The only breed I have a problem with, though, is the opposite of the shedder -- the hairless. There are actually about six breeds of hairless cats; I'm only familiar with the Sphynx. There's just something so darn freaky about Sphynxes. I have enough trouble looking at them, much less touching them, which mercifully I've never had to do. Their faces remind me of little Yodas, and their bodies, when they're kittens, look like some kind of mutant iguana. I understand they're more affectionate than most cats -- almost like dogs -- but that's probably because they have no choice. They know if their owners ever took a really good look at them, they'd be out back in the alley with T.C.

This time with Lucy has me contemplating a cat of my own, but I know it would never work. My apartment is small. A cat would have to share my bed, because there isn't enough room for her sleep anywhere else. The litter box would have to sit on my kitchen table, and I'd have to keep her food dish in my lap. I'm talking small. But never say never, I always say. I could always get a Sphynx, and she could sleep anywhere she liked, because I'd have moved somewhere else.