Roberto the Cheetah

It is overcast and beginning to get cold here again after a brief warm spell.

My Burmese, Little Neal, and my mackerel tabby, Philipo, are stretched out on the bed with me enjoying the heat from the electric blanket. When it’s too cold to go outside, they tend to go onto automatic pilot, just turn themselves off and hibernate for the day, waiting for better weather.

Roberto, our marmalade tabby is curled up in an arm chair in the guest bedroom which he took over from our ocicat, Lilli. She frowns on the turn of events, but reluctantly shares the room with him, if not the armchair.

Roberto is a funny kitty. Long and tall and thin, he must have some cheetah in his genes. He walks with his head down, can run as fast as the wind, and has that cheetah recline. He lays on his side with his head up, surveying the tundra, and patting the tip of his very long tail as he thinks.

He’s a smart kitty as well. He has a habit of drinking water with his paw instead of his mouth. He will put his paw into the water, cup his hand and bring the water up to his mouth.

He has another habit that amazes us every time we see it. It comes to mind because we watched him do it last night. We were standing in the kitchen after clearing up and talking. We noticed Roberto sitting beside the food and water dishes. He was scooping up dry food in his paw and putting it into the water dish. He would play with it for a minute, bobbing it in the water, then after it had enough time to absorb some moisture, he’d pick it up with his paw and eat it out of his hand.

This is smart. Definitely smart.

Dogs Will Work for Nazis

During the night, I often wake just enough to feel the gentle pressure of Little Neal, one of my cats, snuggling his back against my calves, my thighs, or my butt.

It’s an extremely comforting feeling.

It tells me that everything in my house is as it should be, peaceful and calm. Were there a door ajar, a strange cat prowling, or an intruder, every cat in the house would be investigating. They would all be sniffing, peering and craning to see what was going on. But, if my little grey Burmese is snuggling against me, everything is fine.

The subtle pressure of his body is a great compliment. This extraordinary, still wild creature has chosen me to lay down with. A cat will not lay down with just anybody. A cat’s love and trust is earned and earned again every day. A cat will not easily allow himself to be taken for granted.

"But, a cat won’t shake hands, or sit up." Remarked my doctor the other day during a telephone conversation.

"Well of course not." I thought, but didn’t bother saying.

I didn’t bother saying it because it was preposterous on its face, the idea of a cat performing cheap tricks for a morsel of food.

No, you’ll never see a self respecting cat wearing a jester’s collar, performing for the entertainment of inferior beings who for some reason are amused by such foolishness. But, then again, you will never see a cat on a leash, snapping at the heels of wretched Jews in box cars.

Dogs will work for Nazi’s. Cats will not.

Cats have never been the pet of choice for people who find themselves drawn to subservience and obedience. Cats have a kind of stiff-necked pride that I think appeals more to women than to men. Men are, as a general rule, team players, ruled by the dominance hierarchy. Women are far more subversive, as Western civilization has recognized for eons. Women are very much like cats. They will, in the end, generally follow their own internal dictates and would rather starve themselves than compromise their ideals.

Women, like cats, are survivors. Smaller and lighter than their competitors, they have learned to run and fight only when cornered. Once cornered, however, they come out with teeth and nails flashing in a rush of fury that can scare the be-Jesus out of the bravest man.

Needless to say, as a woman, I live my life surrounded by cats and with a man who admires them almost as much as I do. I find this an admirable quality. My husband was, in fact, accepted into the family by one of my cats who climbed up on his chest before I had even decided to admit him into the fold. But, I get ahead of myself. That is a story for later.