Pillow Talk

If Linus could talk, he would tell us that the highlight of his day occurs when he leaves his favorite carpet in the living room, at 7:00 p.m. precisely, to head upstairs. Pillow talk awaits.

I, too, am a creature of habit, and Linus has learned that he can always find his Cat Lady sitting cross-legged on the bed in the master bedroom, catching up on the daily newspapers and watching the nightly news (and trying to do so simultaneously). Linus eyes the pillow next to mine. He knows that the bigger pillow is reserved for my husband to sleep on, but little Linus manages to steal it first for himself, every time.

Unlike Lucius, who responds to about twenty words, Linus does not have an extensive vocabulary. Linus understands certain fundamentally feline words, of course, such as “feed” and “treat,” but no one would ever mistake him for being a wordsmith. In fact, he acts like a windup cat whenever I say “pillow” ( a slight variation on a parrot's "Polly Wants a Cracker") because he takes his position immediately on cue, tucking himself in for some shut-eye.

I’ve noticed recently that Linus has started snoring while sleeping, and I need to teach him the librarians’ famous last word: “Shhh.”

Query of the Day: Do you talk to your cats while they sleep?

Lights, Camera, Action!

I got to blow out the bright lights of birthday candles earlier this week, and I wish someone had taken my picture to capture my surprise. Don’t get me wrong: I knew I was growing older officially on July 19, and I know I am and always will be a Cat Lady. What I didn’t know is that I would be gifted with a “Crazy Cat Lady” action figure. She’s all mine!

I’ll ruin the fun of the toy if I start quibbling about “crazy” and its placement before the term “Cat Lady.” You may remember that I have written before about being a lady who is simply crazy for cats. What toymaker would touch that phrase?

My action figure has eight cats, but I’m sure she’ll catch up with me before too long. I don’t need to wind her up like other toys on the market, so I’ll just cheer her on to adopt felines at her own, action-packed pace.

Go get 'em, you crazy cat lady!

Query of the Day: Have you ordered your action figure yet?

Honey, I’m Home!

Even though I travel infrequently, I cherish a silly ritual while I’m away from home. I tuck snapshots of each of our ten cats into my purse, and once I reach my hotel room and begin unpacking, I display the photos on the night table closest to the side of the bed on which I’ll be temporarily sleeping. Lucius commands the first position, of course, and it’s a pleasure to see his frowning face almost beside me as I awaken in a bed other than my own.

Reversing course, en route to Houston, just as soon as the food-and-drinks cart makes its way down the cramped aisle of the airplane, I breathe a sigh of relief and say to myself, “I’m coming home everybody.” I know, this part of the ritual sounds especially ridiculous. But I also know that our cats are guided by their intuitions and instincts, and that they are on full alert to expect me home on a certain day, by a certain time. Perhaps they even can tell when the plane’s wheels touch ground.

My moral dilemma arrives when I approach the door to my home. I’ve got to stroke Lucius first. “Honey, I’m home,” I announce happily while my husband watches forlornly. He retreats to play second fiddle while Lucius nearly gallops to greet me. The other cats are waiting patiently, wondering whose name I'll call next.

Lydia will be upset if I don’t give an immediate shout-out to her. But what about Leo, who has been hiding in a closet for two days, too scared to emerge when I'm not there? And I can’t wait to acknowledge the adorable Linus, the resident feline/he-man L.B, and the innocently sweet Alvar. I check on Lillie, T.J., Perkins, and Miss Tommie in the garage apartment after I have made my way through the house.

Although one of our air-conditioning compressors unexpectedly died while I was away for the past few days, I overlooked the discomfort because “there is no place like home.” Mine will always be in steamy Houston, surrounded by multiple felines, and in a special place named Catland.

Query of the Day: Do you greet your firstborn cat first?

Family Sleep

The face of Angelina Jolie is appearing everywhere again—particularly on the covers of major consumer magazines—and the cover story of the August issue of Vanity Fair offers new insights into the actress’s life between the sheets, so to speak.

Angelina divulges that she loves “family sleep,” a time when “everybody crawls into our [that would be with Brad] bed. We had sheets specially made. …I don’t know if it’s twice as big [as a king], but it’s notably bigger. …When we had two kids, the nine-foot bed was extraordinary. With three, it was verging. Now, at six, it’s tight.”

Tell me about it, Angelina. I have hoped that I, a mere Cat Lady, would have something in common with this beautiful woman. And now I learn that our common bond relates to the number six, as in kids. Hers are famous and in the news often, and mine are furry and live far from the paparazzi’s gaze.

Sleeping with six is an uncomfortable squeeze, and my husband doesn’t even attempt to jockey for space when the kids take their places before he’s ready for lights out. Ultimately, it’s hard for me to feel sorry for Angelina’s plight because, after all, she is spared the within-earshot sounds of licking, hissing, and scratching that I hear at all hours of the night. Or maybe she would enjoy the change of scenery at Catland, where the sound of silence is a distant memory.

Query of the Day: Should I contact Angelina’s agent and invite her for a sleepover?

Tweets not Treats

If my ten cats were on Twitter …

Lucius: Just had my Fluoxetine. Feeling good.

Lydia: I’m getting ready to attack Leo now.

Leo: I hate when Lydia chases me. I prefer to sleep under the bed.

Linus: Watch out, L.B., I’m in the mood to jump you.

Lillie: I wish I could brush my own long hair.

T.J.: All this garage apartment needs is a full-time housekeeper.

Perkins: I used to want to claw my way out of our apartment. But I can’t imagine life without air-conditioning.

Miss Tommie: When I come back in my next life, I want to be a librarian.

Alvar: Did anyone say treats?

L.B. Lady Gaga was awesome on the "Today" show this morning. Wish our Cat Lady looked like her.

Query of the Day: What would your cats say on Twitter?

Feed the Senses

I guess I watched too much TV over the past holiday weekend because I can’t get this frisky advertising jingle out of my head: “Friskies, Feed the Senses.”

The Friskies execs are taking a page from my book. If an art book is doing its job, then the reader turning the pages will feel that the soul is being nourished, the senses well fed.

I consulted with Lucius et al., and the consensus is that when it comes to a hand-to-mouth awakening of the senses, nothing beats the Friskies brand for keeping kitties satisfied.

Query of the Day: How do you feed the senses of your cats?

Who Came First?

I can still remember that much-anticipated moment, once a week during my freshman year at Wellesley, when my favorite art-history professor would stride onto the stage in the art center's auditorium and whisper dramatically into the microphone, “May I have the first two slides, please?”

The slide projectionist accepted her cue, and reproductions of two works of art filled the big screen quickly. "Let's compare and contrast the Mondrian and the Matisse." The opportunity to study works of art--their similarities and their differences--was new and exciting, and I got hooked on the visual exercise very fast.

I think of our ten cats more as furry people than as works of art. But an advertisement in a recent issue of Antiques magazine caused me to do a double-take. I stopped flipping through the pages to examine a full-page image of a cat doorstop by Oscar Peterson, the American sculptor hailed as the “master carver of Michigan.” The cat depicted resembles Lucius on the day we found him in our backyard, crouching on the wooden deck rail. He was emaciated and wounded, and too scared to move.

As I stared at the ad, I couldn’t help but wonder if, in one of his nine lives, Lucius was an artwork carved from wood, dating to about 1930. Or did the artwork spring to life as the stray cat we named Lucius, appearing in 2000?

This weekend marks our ten-year anniversary of rescuing Lucius, who came to us first and paved the way for more cats to arrive, and even more to follow, and for eventually nine other felines to join our family.

As we celebrate our nation’s independence this coming holiday weekend, I also will commemorate the start of my new personal decade of codependence with Lucius. He will always be the first among felines, and forever joined to my hip.

Hooray!

Query of the Day: Do you, too, cherish codependence with your cats?