Can’t Buy Me Love

But…Santa bought/brought me a new coffee mug from Anne Taintor’s latest line of whimsical, retro-inspired products.

“If I had wanted to be ignored, I would have bought a cat,” is the quizzical statement that confronts me every time I raise my brand-new mug to take a swig of some Starbucks Christmas brew. I have yet to meet a cat who ignores me!

I did not receive the other mug featured here, although I should have.

I am dreaming of next Christmas, by which time Ms. Taintor will have consented to my request to manufacture the “I Am Cat Lady” coffee mug. I would buy it in multiples for all of my Cat Lady friends!

Query of the Day: Will you sign my petition to Anne Taintor?

I Love My Cat

It's Christmas at Catland and, per usual, all of the creatures are stirring. Linus, in particular, is having a great time playing with his new red-and-green mouse.

Cat Man and I don't fill the cats' stockings. We throw the feline-only presents on the carpets, and the cats greedily fetch them. Thank you PetSmart, once again, for offering everything that cats could possibly desire.

Back to the matter of the cats' stockings: The six monogrammed socks hang by the tallest bookcase with care. Where else would an art-book editor hang holiday stockings? In the garage apartment, the four stockings are hung by a bookcase, too. Martha Stewart might not approve of our decorating decor, but our cats do, and that's all that matters.

It used to be, in the "olden days" (circa 2000), that we planned for a Christmas morning with only one cat. Yes, you guessed correctly: Lucius was the cat for whom we preordered holiday gifts. Then along came the others, and the first stocking I purchased, which proclaims "I Love My Cat," was no longer operative.

But even though we now have ten stockings to show for our family of cats, the same, simple sentiment rings true.

I love my cat, times ten.

Query of the Day: Did you catch Santa Claus kissing Cat Lady?

Virtual Yule

I’m grateful to AT&T U-verse this holiday season for the gift of the “Virtual Yule.”

Every night, about 8:00 p.m., our cats gather ‘round the virtual hearth—otherwise known as a 32” flat-screen TV—and listen to classic holiday carols that play on channels 400 and 800 (at least in our Houston-based universe). In spite of what you may think about Lucius, he is not the Grinch who stole Christmas. In fact, Lucius’s face lights up at the sound of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”

What is the pre-Christmas playlist at Catland? “O Come All Ye Faithful” tops the charts, perhaps because our felines consider this carol to be Cat Lady’s personal anthem for assisting creatures in need. Our ten rescue missions were successful because ten cats decided to put their trust in me (with a jolly shout-out and a “Ho Ho Ho” to my [crazy] Cat Man).

I keep hoping that the Virtual Yule will play Michael Bublé’s new version of “Feliz Navidad,” accompanied by Thalia. Both L.B. and Linus love the Latin vibe. Lydia, Lillie, Leo, T.J., Perkins, Miss Tommie, and Alvar are ecumenical in their tastes for holiday sing-alongs.

Well, it’s time to go feed the cats and to throw some more logs on the fire.

Until Christmas Eve!

Query of the Day: Do you sing holiday carols to your cats?

What Price Lucius?

An article in USA Today last week about the costs of veterinary office care hit home. For feline caregivers, the average cost of a visit to the vet is $558.

Recently, right before the Thanksgiving holiday, our one and only Lucius became ill. Because he has been in remarkably good health (aside from long-term insecurity and other issues symptomatic of neurosis) since we rescued and adopted him eleven years ago, we knew that something was wrong when he stopped eating completely. Nothing in the Cat Lady’s bag of tricks worked: canned tuna, Gerber’s baby food, treats. Lucius shunned them all.

Dr. O. ran a full range of tests on Lucius, and the associated costs were far from inconsequential, with the total coming close to $1,000. At one point during his treatment for what was diagnosed as chronic, as opposed to acute, pancreatitis, Dr. O. suggested that Lucius might need to be hospitalized so that an IV drip could provide sustained nourishment. Two days and two nights would cost about $2,000 for starters.

I couldn’t imagine putting a price tag on Lucius’s life, yet I found myself wondering desperately if investing more of our savings could indeed buy Lucius a longer stay on earth. I also couldn’t bring myself to ask Dr. O. explicitly if pancreatitis was ultimately a death sentence for a cat, no matter the costly intervention to offer comfort.

Fate has intervened once again for Lucius and me and Cat Man. There is no other way to explain Lucius’s rapid, impressive turnaround than to say that the cat had a will to live longer, aided by a few days’ concentrated dosage of anti-pain and anti-nausea medications.

What price Lucius? No QR code is necessary. And you can’t buy gratitude of this magnitude.

Query of the Day: How do you budget for annual pet care?

Black Friday

How does Cat Lady spend Black Friday?

Am I like "Target Lady," the hyper-Type-A female character starring in the Target TV commercials who seizes the day-Black Friday-in a major way?

You won't catch me standing in a long line today at PetSmart, waiting with other Cat Ladies for the "Buy 25 Pallets of Fancy Feast, Get 1 Free" doorbuster sale. I'm safely at Catland, with our ten cats, where there is not a gate-crasher in sight. We're decorating for the Christmas holidays, and Cat Man is in heaven because his Longhorns beat the Aggies last night in the football rivalry finale of them all.

Don't get too crazy out there, Cat Ladies, if you are among the millions roaming the malls 'til midnight. For me, there is no place like home on Black Friday. Lucius, Lydia, Leo, Lillie, Linus, L.B., Alvar, Perkins, T.J., and Miss Tommie unanimously agree.

Query of the Day: Do you raid PetSmart on Black Friday?

A Horn of Plenty...Felines

I tip my Cat Lady’s hat to artist/cartoonist/illustrator Lisa Hanawalt, who in her “Visions of Thanksgiving” Op-Art piece for the New York Times, came up with the perfect coinage and imagery for tomorrow’s holiday: “Cornucatta,” or, a “horn of cats.”

My Thanksgiving “cornucatta” will overflow with ten cats whose primary colors just so happen to complement the primary palette of our holiday tableware: pumpkin, charcoal, and a mélange of the two.

Move over turkeys—here come our kitties. And here’s wishing you and yours a healthy and bountiful Thanksgiving Day.

Query of the Day: Are you serving a Thanksgiving feast to your cats?

Coosome Twosome

Aren’t these two kitties the cutest?

Ocho (in grey) and Mr. T. (in tuxedo garb) belong to my great friend and colleague Heather, who briefly returned to her hometown of Houston this week and escaped the snowy environs of Ohio.

While Heather was away, Mr. T. did play—to the tune of sliding down a laundry chute. Mr. T. wound up in the basement of Heather’s house, where he had ample opportunities to explore new territory. But as soon as Mr. T. came up for air, he found his best buddy Ocho. I think Mr. T. said, “It’s cold down there. Commence Snuggling.”

I love furry tales with happy endings.

Query of the Day: Does your cat like to perch on top of your laundry basket or slide down a laundry chute?

You’ve Got a Friend

That’s what Mary, my Wellesley roommate, said to me when I walked through the front door of her lovely home in Minneapolis. Audrey, also a longtime friend from Wellesley days, and I were curious if Mary had arranged for one of our classmates to jump out from behind the living-room couch as a surprise opening act for our mini-reunion. Enter Maeby.

Maeby is my new best friend of the feline persuasion. This darling tortoiseshell cat with the expressive flat face, which seemingly floats above her compact body (she doesn’t have much of a neck), bonded immediately with me. We had the best of times playing and cuddling during my too-brief stay.

Not that I needed documentary evidence, but I was very satisfied to find—so many miles from Catland—that I could still earn my keep as Cat Lady. Mary’s two other cats were affectionate, too, though Maeby is my girl.

When Mary and Audrey and I attended Wellesley during the 1970s, James Taylor was the man. I can remember many nights in our dormitory rooms listening to his album Mud Slide Slim and the Blue Horizon, and replaying his version of Carole King’s “You’ve Got a Friend.” Little did I know then that this song would serve as a personal anthem for a weekend filled with nostalgia and enhanced by my meeting yet another furry friend.

Query of the Day: Are you a cat magnet?

"Totality"

Because I refer to Lucius as my BFF, I was curious when I saw the headline “Best Friend Forever” in this past Sunday’s New York Times Book Review. Was someone writing about my first cat? I had my suspicions.

Every Cat Lady knows that a dog is considered man’s best friend, but cats keep gaining ground. In fact, the Anti-Cruelty Society in Chicago has recently launched a new campaign about adopting felines, with the theme of “man’s new best friend.” I couldn’t agree more.

So who is the mysterious best friend forever? Rin Tin Tin, of course. Susan Orlean’s new book about “the life and the legend” of the famous German shepherd who took Hollywood by storm is getting lots of favorable press. While reading the book review, I was struck not only by the tenderhearted anecdotes about the remarkable Rin Tin Tin but also by the mention of journalist J. Allen Boone, who was “totally” obsessed with his beloved dog Strongheart, a German shepherd who starred in movies during the 1920s.

I put the word “totally” in quotation marks because just in case you are thinking that Boone was the male ancestor of the Valley Girl, think again. Boone had his own theory of the animal-human bond, which he named “Totality.” He would not accept anyone referring to Strongheart as “dead,” even after the animal had indeed died.

I like the idea of “totality,” of our perfect oneness with an animal, or two, or ten. Naturally, there are extreme exceptions to the rule—the reviewer comments that Boone is a reminder of “what real derangement looks like”—and then there are people like us who simply love cats with all of our hearts and souls. Whether we convey these intense emotions silently or boisterously, the choice is “totally” ours.

Query of the Day: Do you have a favorite moment of “Totality” with your cat?

Lost Cat, Found Hunk

Last night, after tucking in the cats, I turned on the TV in search of something new and stimulating.

You won’t be surprised to learn that what hooked me in the first episode of “Case Histories,” on Masterpiece Mystery, was the opening scene in which a tough, but kindhearted, detective tries to find a lost cat. Of course, a lost cat is neither a new nor an abstract concept to me. Been there and done that, times ten, plus another seven rescues—all from our backyard.

And, not surprisingly, the Cat Lady on screen played to stereotype. Nothing new about a nutty Cat Lady, complete with bulging eyes and disheveled hair. Cats surrounded her, except for the one that had got away.

But as for the stimulating—the tall, dark, and handsome actor named Jason Isaacs—well, I think every Cat Lady needs one like him in her backyard.

Query of the Day: Would you hire a private detective to find a lost cat?

Microchip Me?

I did not intend to be away from Ten Cat Alley for so long. My leave of absence was completely unscheduled, and Lucius did not approve it.

But in case you think you need to implant a microchip in my upper left arm to keep track of my whereabouts, have no fear.

In the immortal words of every stray tomcat I've encountered (and there have been many, as you know), I'll be back.

Why, You Two-Faced…

Cat!

I am sure that you, like many people around the world, did a double-take when images of Frank and Louie hit the airwaves today. The exotic cat who has two faces was entered into the Guinness World Record for being the longest-living member of a rare breed known as Janus cats.

At age 12, Frank and Louie is a senior citizen. He may not carry an AARP card, but think about only a few of his many benefits:

Three eyes for scoping female felines!

Two noses for smelling and sniffing sardines!

Two mouths for eating treats!

The New York Daily News refers to Frank and Louie as a “creepy kitty,” an oddity, whereas I would bet on this cat as the odds-on favorite to win every Cat Lady’s heart.

Query of the Day: Have you ever seen a two-faced cat?

“Do-over”

I should have known there was a full moon when I heard the familiar sound of two cats mating outside—in our driveway, to be blunt. I had been having trouble sleeping and was tossing fitfully, and I was so out of it that I thought I was hearing outtakes from recent televised political debates (of all things). This is the truth: I could not suppress the voice of Michele Bachmann saying, and I can’t remember the exact quote, but you get the idea, “There are no ‘do-overs’ at the White House.”

Well, at Catland, I am not looking for an immediate "do-over," either, as the “No Vacancy” shingle remains in effect and enforceable with Cat Man. But any Cat Lady knows that two cats mating can mean a litter of kittens on the horizon.

And yet… would I do this—this full-time “business” of being Cat Lady—again, at some point in the near future, starting over with a new family and writing a new group biography? I think I can now hear the high-pitched voice of Sarah Palin speaking to me directly: You Betcha!

Query of the Day: Are you in the “do-over” mode and wanting more cats?

First Mother

It’s a rare day that I get to have a reunion with a cat whom I rescued years ago—that is, a cat who does not live with Cat Man and me.

I was thrilled to receive an invitation from my friend and colleague Keelin to “come over and see Bella.” I first met Bella during the summer of 2009, in the backyard of Catland, where so many of the neighborhood’s stray cats have sensed they could find me. Like other lost cats, Bella was famished and severely dehydrated. Because she was so petite, I assumed she was only a kitten. I was able to work with Bella for several weeks to earn her trust, and the always sympathetic Dr. O. let me board Bella at a discounted rate until I could identify a fellow Cat Lady to become Bella's second mother.

“All systems go” was the verdict for the lovely, 2 1/2-year-old Bella, and I was eager to find a permanent loving home for her. I was and remain grateful to Keelin for coming forward to adopt Bella. The two live together in a spacious apartment in one of Houston’s historic districts, and Bella’s comfort is never in doubt.

If truth be told, my reunion with Bella did not go exactly as planned, at least in my mind. I thought I would call out “Bella, remember me?” and that she would run toward me excitedly. To be sure, I used the Cat Lady voice to coax her. No sign of Bella. She was hiding underneath Keelin’s bed. Bella is apparently skittish around Keelin’s friends, and Bella also is known to emerge from hiding once said friends leave the premises.

Keelin brought Bella to me. I was able to stroke this precious kitty’s head again and to look Bella directly in the eyes. I will never know if the sound of my voice scared her—was I just another stranger invading her turf?—or if it brought back memories of a rescue mission that began on one sultry day in July. What I do know unequivocally is that my own inner voice told me that I had to rescue Bella.

Query of the Day: How do you persuade your cat to come out of hiding?

Face It

I took a day off from work this week (paid employment, that is) to catch up on my full-time duties as Cat Lady. Our ten cats seem to be going through a new phase of life in which they randomly reject certain flavors of wet food. So back to PetSmart I go, with my nearly scroll-length itemized receipt in hand, explaining yet again to the nice young man at the cash register that our cats have gone on a solidarity strike. As of August 31, no more “tender liver and chicken,” please.

A day off would not be complete without serious retail therapy. PetSmart does not count. The Galleria here offers almost every name-brand store under the sun (luckily, all air-conditioned stores), and one of my favorite stores is only five minutes away from Houston’s shopping mecca. I always find an excuse to head to Target.

When I entered my neighborhood Target, I was dazzled by the displays of leopard-patterned scarves, belts, and hats. The spot-on look is proving to be a lasting one in the fashion industry, and a Cat Lady can count on dressing well this fall. No less an authority than the New York Times’s style magazine recently proclaimed 2011 as “The Year of the Cat.” I could have told you so.

If beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder of felines, then I feel obliged to get with the program this year and fully line my eyes with black kohl.

Query of the Day: Will Lucius et al. approve of their Cat Lady’s stylish feline eyes?

The Ultimate Morph

I am very intrigued by German artist Martin Eder’s rendition of a Cat Lady, even though the subject of his portrait does not go by this distinguished name. Do I think Eder’s painting of art collector Dianne Wallace is the ultimate morph—a perfect merging—of a cat and a lady?

My thanks go to Cat Man for pointing out a reproduction of the painting, which accompanied a recent feature article in The Wall Street Journal that focused on prominent modern collectors commissioning self-portraits.

If I could have the pleasure of meeting with Mr. Eder to pursue such a commission, I wonder how he would depict me. After all, he would not need to incorporate an image of my face into an image of the head of a domestic cat, as he has done in the painting of Ms. Wallace. I am already Cat Lady (and hear me meow).

The article describes the New York City–based Ms. Wallace appearing in the painting as “a human locked inside a house cat.” I guess we Cat Ladies do things differently in Houston. Cohabitating with cats liberated me from what was once my prescribed trajectory in life. Being a Cat Lady—now that’s a lock.

Query of the Day: Are you locked in or liberated by your cats?

Pourquoi le chat ronronne t-il?

Hmmm, that is the million-dollar question, I thought to myself, as I opened an e-mail message of the same title that my friend and colleague Bernard sent to me during the stateside portion of his summer vacation. Bernard is French, and he flatters me by thinking that I can still read French easily. Every now and then, Bernard forwards articles from the Parisian press, including the “ronronne” column penned by veterinarian Marie-Claude Bomsel, who writes for Le nouvel Observateur.

First, I must make a confession. I not only was intrigued by the “ronronne” title, I was stumped. I had to consult my dusty edition of Cassell’s French Dictionary because, back in the day when I lived in Paris (circa 1976), cats were not part of my personal equation. My college roommate and I lived on the Left Bank with an elderly French woman who was formerly an artist, and we were immersed in her blend of French culture. Somehow “ronronne” never made its way into my working vocabulary. Thirty-five years later, I am delighted to learn a new word in French: Ronronner means “to purr.”

So, what makes Lucius, Lydia, Leo, Linus, Lillie, L.B., Alvar, T.J., Perkins, and Miss Tommie purr? Dr. Bomsel eloquently describes the difference between a feline’s purrs of contentment and those purrs that signify panic. The vocal chords of our ten cats run the gamut, yet after reading Dr. Bomsel’s anaylsis, it is safe to announce with absolute authority that our cats purr to communicate their state of pampered bliss.

Query of the Day: Pourquoi la Cat Lady ronronne t-elle? Responses in all languages are welcome.

I Second That Emotion

One of my dog-loving friends—yes, I have these kind of friends, too—recommended that I read an interesting review in The Economist about a new book on man’s best friend. My friend was correct in thinking that parts of the review would resonate with me.

Who better to write about man’s best friend than John Bradshaw, a biologist who founded the anthrozoology department at the University of Bristol, England. He knows whereof he speaks.

As Bradshaw writes in Dog Sense: How the New Science of Dog Behavior Can Make You a Better Friend to Your Pet, the emotional range of dogs is much more limited than the spectrum of emotions that we human beings feel. Dogs live almost exclusively in the moment. Although they experience joy, anxiety, and anger, they are not equipped to be introspective, or to feel pangs of guilt or to suffer from bouts of jealousy. Many dog owners do not believe this overall assessment to be true. Naturally, we Cat Ladies appreciate that the grass is greener on the other side.

I would like to introduce Mr. Bradshaw to Mr. Lucius, a cat who displays every emotion under the sun, and then some. Lucius is this girl’s best friend, and while I may lack the impressive pedigree of a professional anthrozoologist, I know a sentient creature when I see him. Scientific research is not necessary to support my observations of the overwrought feline named Lucius, and I couldn’t imagine him with a non-volatile personality. God forbid he should ever act like an obedient dog.

Query of the Day: How do your cats cope with their mood swings?

Life in a Fishbowl

One of the best parts of being a bona fide Cat Lady is that life is never dull. Our ten cats opened my eyes to so many new vistas. I escaped the ivory tower of the museum world to find a more meaningful existence at Catland. Actually, “escaped” is not the correct word because I am still gainfully (thank heaven!) employed as an editor of art books. But adopting and domesticating orphaned felines gave me an unexpected opportunity to achieve that perfect “unified oneness,” as the New Agers like to say. No life in a fishbowl for this Cat Lady, simply a life well lived, and certainly outside the box.

But then along came a fishbowl. While trolling for goodies on eBay, I found a collectible that only an antiques-loving Cat Lady would long to acquire. Although the $1,500+ price tag of the Muskota cat [and fishbowl] is way out of my league, I can’t help thinking that an unusual art object such as this one belongs in my home of disparate artworks.

You see, before I began adopting cats, Cat Man and I collected cracked pots by the dozen and by some of the best 19th- and 20th-century American potteries. We did not care if the bowls and vases we discovered in consignment shops were flawed or slightly chipped or broken; we loved the colors and textures of pottery by Roseville, Van Briggle, and Weller. Our “cracked-pot collection” defies the matchy-match philosophy of decorating, which must be among the reasons why I am coveting this fishbowl cat by none other than Weller.

Query of the Day: Would somebody please throw a penny into the [missing]fishbowl? I am starting my acquisition fund today.

Extreme Cat Lady

“Cat Lady, Cat Lady, come here quickly!” Cat Man was summoning me to the kitchen, where he was watching a DVD on his laptop. He loves Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot mysteries, and The Clocks was screening at Catland.

There, on the miniscule monitor, was a character after my own heart. Mrs. Hemmings is her name, and she is described in the liner notes for the Poirot DVD series as being “the extreme cat lady.”

I imagine that Mrs. Hemmings’s “collection” of many, many cats looms even larger on the big screen. I took a quick look at some scenes from The Clocks, and Cat Man and I had the same thought simultaneously. “Do I look like that?"
I was reminded by Cat Man of the adage “strength in numbers,” and I returned happily to my daily task of menu-planning for our ten cats.

Query of the Day: How would you define an “extreme cat lady”?

Happy Birthday, Cat Lady

Yes, it’s my birthday, and I’ll meow if I want to (with apologies to “It’s My Party” from the 1960s).

I was feted royally by our ten felines this morning. While out and about last week, Cat Man furtively selected a theme-appropriate gift from each cat to Cat Lady.

Because Lucius likes to stay close to me at all hours, he gave me a refreshing fragrance to wear at all hours. Lydia likes to coo and trill, and apparently she likes the most-recent album by Lily Allen and wanted me to have my own copy. Leo hits me up for treats as often as possible, and he reciprocated by giving me a snack-sized box of one of my favorite treats: Groaties, otherwise known as oatcakes from Scotland. Linus, L.B., and Alvar saved their pennies and advised Cat Man to give me the definitive biography of Nancy Mitford. I love my three amigos!

Lillie, who always smells so lovely, gave me Penhaligon’s Artemisia hand cream. Her daughters Miss Tommie and Perkins pursued the Mitford theme and gifted me with a new paperback edition of The Pursuit of Love. T.J. opened one of his large paws and pushed a Starbucks card in my direction.

If all of that is not enough to make a birthday girl happy, wait 'til I tell you what I got at the office: One dozen donuts and one dozen cupcakes to fuel a daylong sugar-high (and conveniently feed a staff of eleven “hungry girls”).

Keep those feline-inspired birthday cards coming! It’s my birthday for many more hours….

Query of the Day: Do your cats help you celebrate your birthday?

Music to My Ears

There is nothing like a “staycation” for catching up on housekeeping and reading and for listening to my favorite music. I found many opportunities for all three pursuits this past week, although I confess to having been easily distracted by HLN’s wall-to-wall coverage of the Casey Anthony trial.

Nevertheless, I stuck to my original plan and unearthed real, live clippings from magazines and newspapers; retrieved books from the bottom of stacks; and reviewed my collection of record albums—real, live LPs! I am an oldie, but I found some goodies.

I was very pleased to discover feline connections in three different, perhaps unlikely, sources.

When I was in high school listening to Carole King’s Tapestry, I never paid attention to the artwork on the album cover. How could I have missed the adorable tabby cat in the foreground, now staring directly at Cat Lady?

When I was rereading a magazine article I had saved about Bryan Ferry’s art-collecting strategies, how could I have overlooked the best pull-quote of them all? According to the Roxy Music man, “Having things you love is like having a lot of pets all in the same room.”

And while reading, for the first time, Nancy Mitford’s delightfully frothy novel Don’t Tell Alfred, how could I not identify with the following line delivered by one of Mitford’s most-amusing female characters? Northey loves to rescue cats, among other animals, and she asserts: “These little creatures are put in the world for us to look after them.” Music to my ears!

Query of the Day: Do you take "staycations" with your cats?

Nom de Plume

A new book titled Nom de Plume: A (Secret) History of Pseudonyms, by Carmela Ciuraru, is getting good buzz. In the book, the author lays bare the time-honored tradition of the pen name. Explicating her thesis in the New York Times Book Review, Ms. Ciuraru writes, “Many writers have been surprised by the intimate and even disorienting relationships they have formed with their alter egos. The consequences can prove grievous and irrevocable.”

Happily, when I became Cat Lady, I assumed more than a pen name and made peace with what at first appeared to be my alter ego—a personality who quietly challenged the prescribed trajectory of my life. Now, as I have blogged so often, Cat Lady is simply who I am, “take her or leave her” (in the case of ten cats who call Catland home, they like me, they like me!). Ms. Ciuraru also writes that many bloggers rely frequently on noms de plume, “but often as a means of generating publicity or branding a ‘persona.’”

I shun the limelight for a living, crafting my professional trade behind the scenes as an editor at an art museum. In the blogosphere, I have not pursued self-promotion with a vengeance and have yet to reveal my real name, although I like to think that, under the byline of Cat Lady, I have provided a window into my authentic self. I think you know where I am going with this train of thought.

I do not need a quill pen to convey my feelings on paper, but give me a feathered wand any day—my version of an open mike—and let’s talk about why “Cat Lady” can never be mistaken for a fake name.

Query of the Day: Is Cat Lady your pen name, or have you adopted another pseudoynym related to your calling?

Empathy on Paws

The title of today’s post probably fails the crucial test of telegraphing meaning to the casual reader. But you are not a casual reader—you are a Cat Lady! And I bet you already know what I mean by four-legged empathy.

For the first time in about thirty years, I had a dental emergency. As even my dentist said, “This was the real deal.” If only I had experienced phantom pain, a diagnosis that several online sources assured me I was experiencing. No, this was pain that Advil and a topical treatment could not cure. I was unable to sleep. Enter Lydia.

As I tossed fitfully in bed, Lydia tucked herself right beside me. I thought that the always observant Lucius would feel my pain, but he was nowhere in sight. Nor were the other men of the house: Leo, Linus, L.B., Alvar, and the one and only Cat Man.

Lydia rested one of her paws on my hand, trying as best as she could to help me create an imaginary comfort zone. She purred and cooed, attempting to distract and to humor me. At some point I decided that a glass of cold water might provide a measure of relief during the seemingly interminable night. Lydia hopped into the basin of the sink and proceeded to slurp water from the faucet. Like Cat Lady, like daughter (except I was taught by my mother not to slurp). I now know that should I ever have another state of personal emergency, Lydia’s my go-to girl.

I’m back at work, armed with a ten-day dose of Prednisone and penicillin. Lydia seems aware that I can sleep through the night and do not require her nocturnal intervention. She is also enjoying my temporary routine of setting out pills to accompany each meal. Give her a ritual, and she’s in heaven. I treasure her empathy, a touch of heaven on earth.

Query of the Day: Do your cats comfort you in sickness and in health?

To Text or to Tomcat: That Is the Question

Amid the tawdry scandal now known as Weinergate, I have found a reference to a feline.

No, thankfully, U.S. Representative Anthony Weiner has not posed naked with a cat, at least not yet. Perish the thought. While reading about the latest tweeting exploits of Congressman Weiner, I was reminded that he is following in the footsteps of indiscreet politicians who have chased women—century after century. What I did not know is that, in the late 18th century, Martha Washington named one of the tomcats at Mount Vernon after Alexander Hamilton, the famous womanizing politician. The tomcat Hamilton surely enjoyed prowling around the grounds of such a lavish estate, and might romping outdoors in an uninhibited fashion—as opposed to texting in the buff indoors—benefit the New York Democrat, too?

I am not Dr. Drew and will refrain from passing judgment on how to cure Congressman Weiner’s unabashed love of exposure. In fact, I am a fine one to talk. Regretfully, Cat Man and I were never able to trap our beloved tomcat, Tom, and have him neutered. We tried for three years steadily, but Tom always eluded our grasp.

Like Congressman Weiner, Tom was narcissistic and liked to look at his reflection through the glass doors in the den at the back of our house. Whenever I saw Tom admiring himself, I would wave at him, as if to say, “Yes, you’re a stud.” Tom typically responded by lifting one of his hind legs and spraying the glass. Tom was the biggest, “baddest” tomcat on our city block, and the six felines whom he fathered are testaments to his uncontrollable sexual urges. Because of Tom, Cat Man and I became the proud adoptive parents of T.J. (Tom Junior), Perkins, Miss Tommie, Leo, Linus, and Alvar. Tom impregnated his sister, Lillie, who is the mother of the first four cats cited in the lineup, above.

So, while Anthony Weiner is taking a leave of absence from Congress to “become a better and healthier person,” let’s do our part as Cat Ladies and strip neighborhood tomcats of their “sexting privileges.” Catch them if you can, and move those former feline sex addicts inside.

Query of the Day: Should tomcats be sent to kitty rehab?

Weekend Update

Ah, Gaga! I shouldn’t feel jealous that others are comparing themselves to and with Lady Gaga. Naturally, I am eager to cultivate my emerging “Cat Lady Gaga” persona, but I know I must keep an open mind.

This past weekend, when I noticed that my bedside table was about to topple over, I grabbed some of the magazines stacked on top. I realize I date myself by still reading publications in print, but after five days a week of staring at a computer screen on a full-time basis, I gravitate mostly to paper on weekends.

First up, The Economist. The “Schumpeter” column in the June 4–10 issue titled “The angel and the monster” hinted at possibilities. Sure enough, Schumpeter’s subhead reads “Mother Theresa and Lady Gaga are the latest icons of the leadership industry. Don’t laugh.” For all of you Cat Ladies who are following Lady Gaga, this article about “leadership projection” and star power is a must-read (even though there is nothing explicit about rescuing stray felines).

Next stop, Vogue. How did Penelope Cruz go from cats to Bardem? According to the cover story in Vogue’s June issue, Ms. Cruz was a Cat Lady before she became a famous actress. When she moved from her native Spain to Los Angeles, she did not know much English and quietly took up residence in a tiny hotel room. There, she lived with cats, not with hunks such as Javier Bardem. “Ms. Cruz clarifies: “I was very lonely. I wound find cats in the street and take them with me. I raised a lot of cats in that period.” “Cats, plural,” emphasizes Vogue’s writer.

No one would mistake me for Penelope Cruz (or Gaga, for that matter), but I can certainly relate to the blissfully simple two-word sentence “cats, plural.”

Query of the Day: Do you relate to “cats, plural,” or do you have a singular affection for felines?

Put Your Paws Up!

Forgive my ongoing obsession with Lady Gaga, but who could escape seeing her this past weekend? Gaga was everywhere! And I can’t help focusing on the parallels between her life and mine. OK, that’s admittedly a gross overstatement, but here is some fascinating evidence:

1) We share a rallying anthem: “Put Your Paws Up”!

2) We are deeply dedicated to our “little monsters”: Gaga to her billions of fans, I to Lucius and his multiple personalities.

3) We believe in equality for all species.

4) We are petite women who can wear catsuits (Gaga’s is made of spandex and skintight, mine was a Halloween costume I once wore when I was in my twenties).

5) We do not abandon our dreams.

I suspect Lady Gaga would like this photograph from my slice of life in the museum world. The work is titled Climbing Cat, by Ron Evans. Paws up, indeed!

Query of the Day: Would you consider calling me "Cat Lady Gaga"?

A Cuddle Costs $0.80 a Minute

That’s right, Cat Ladies, and you can do the math.

If you are traveling during this Memorial Day weekend and want to board your cat at one of the centers run by Best Friends Pet Care Inc., and you want your cat to be cuddled while you are on the road, you will be charged $8 for 10 minutes.

I have never thought about putting a price tag on cuddling any one of our ten cats, but I would need to dip into savings if Cat Man and I ever decide to take a vacation together without the Catland crew. To be honest, we gave up a long time ago on vacationing as a married couple who leave their pets at home. And it’s been impossible to find someone, even another enthusiast who dreams about felines, who wants to take care of ten cats for a few days and nights. I’ve tried upping the ante, offering more than the going per-diem rate of $20 per feline. Sorry, no takers.

Still, I can’t imagine paying an upscale “professional cuddler” to caress Lucius, Lydia, Lillie, and Leo, and to stroke Linus, L.B., Perkins, Miss Tommie, T.J., and Alvar. But maybe I’m in the wrong business, after all.

Query of the Day: Is the cost of cuddling your cats priceless?

Born This Way

I am of a certain vintage that remembers when Cher and Dolly were considered to be freak shows. So it comes as no surprise to me, though Cat Man can’t believe it, that I am fascinated with Lady Gaga. I watched HBO’s special this past weekend, “Lady Gaga Presents the Monster Ball Tour,” and now I can’t stop singing (to myself, don’t worry) “Born This Way.”

I wonder if Lucius was “born this way,” meaning a cat who is half-empathetic and half-demonic. Prior to my Gaga sighting, this thought also came to mind when Dr. O. introduced me recently to a six-week-old orange-tabby foundling who was discovered at a Houston-area high school. The kitten is all sweetness and light, and could Lucius ever have been described in this way? Or, was he born to be sensitive and neurotic?

I can only imagine Lucius in his early youth, as I met him when he was already two years old and had developed his distinct point of view, otherwise known as an attitude. I have since watched him become a senior cat with a vengeance. I don’t mean to flatter myself, but perhaps if I had intervened when Lucius was a toddler, he would not be quite so nutty today.

Yet I love that Lucius is who he is, and I certainly can’t write with any conviction that he and I have a “bad romance,” to quote another one of my new and favorite Gaga tunes. As Lady Gaga herself convincingly sings about humankind’s shared DNA, “Ooh, there ain’t no other way, baby.” And as Lucius might refrain, “I’m on the right track, Cat Lady, I was born this way.”

Query of the Day: Were your cats born to be wild or kind, or both ways?

“It Takes Tu-na”

I am in the business of evaluating words and whether they are used economically. I laughed this morning while catching up on clippings that fellow editors had sent my way. One article made it to the top of the stack because with a headline like “Why a Good Script Is Like a Thong Bikini,” there can be no cause for delay. Another article was about the dedicated volunteers at the Anti-Cruelty Society in Chicago, who attributed their recent success in trapping feral cats to “a lot of tuna.” Those four words say it all and also reinforce the thong-bikini philosophy of covering ground sparingly.

“A lot of tuna” brought back vivid memories of setting humane traps for Lillie, Perkins, T.J., and Miss Tommie. It took the two of us, Cat Man and Cat Lady, to catch these then-young cats who were born beneath our pier-and-beam house and to bring them safely to Dr. O.’s for their initial checkups and vaccinations. Now, eleven years later, I can still remember the routine of opening can after can of smelly tuna in our backyard, hoping to lure and domesticate an innocent mama kitty and her litter of two calico girls and a grey-tabby boy.

I don’t recall emptying the shelves of the supermarket, but my husband and I definitely needed a lot of tuna to fulfill our mission. As a result, I rarely order tuna sandwiches for lunch anymore, although Cat Man swears that a bit of mayonnaise might make Fancy Feast’s flaked fish-and-shrimp combo edible for humans. I advised him to stick to his day job and leave culinary flights of fancy to a new generation of cat rescuers. That said, he is allowed to spread the word that “it takes tu-na” to make the cat world go 'round.

Query of the Day: Do you feed tuna to your cats?

If I Were a Rich Cat Lady

I would stand proudly in the showroom at Bonhams in London and bid on David Hockney’s ceramic cat, which the artist created in 1955. Although the April 20 auction features Hockney’s prized works from five decades of creativity, international press has focused repeatedly on this earthenware striped cat who wears the vintage coloration–mustard and black—of the midcentury.

And while in London, I would stop in at Studio Voltaire, which is presenting the first solo exhibition in a London gallery of work by contemporary artist Laura Aldridge. I noticed a small reproduction of a detail—of a cat, of course—from one of Ms. Aldridge’s works while reading the New York Times magazine recently, and I ventured to the artist’s website immediately. According to the gallery’s literature on the artist, Ms. Aldridge creates installations made of tied-knot sculptures and screen-printed cutouts of cats being cradled and petted. But then the language on art becomes, well, a bit confusing to this Cat Lady who customarily pets ten cats daily: “The fragmented imagery of the act of stroking and cradling emphasizes the act of touching, rather than the animal being touched.”

Query of the Day: Put simply, why not say that cats respond affectionately to our touch?

Do I Dare?

I am always grateful when friends recommend that I try a new line of clothing. But how do I tell one of my impossibly chic friends in France that I can't afford Givenchy?

Do I dare to wear these cat-inspired accessories that shook up the runway recently? I do wear reading glasses, but yellow oversized cat's-eye glasses could be too much, even for a Cat Lady. And what about the hat crowned with cat's ears? I can hear our cats now, ridiculing me as I model my new look for them.

Query of the Day: Will you walk the catwalk?

Odor in the House

The title of this blog does not include a typographical error. I do not mean “Order in the House.” I do mean odor, and for a delightful reason.

A feature article in the April issue of W profiles Jean-Claude Ellena, who creates perfumes for the house of Hermès. He lives in Paris, where he was recently inspired to create a new fragrance that captures the scents of the urban garden found on the rooftop of the firm’s flagship boutique.

In the article, the interviewer asks Monsieur Ellena if he likes to burn scented candles at home. He responds, “I prefer smelling odors from the kitchen, the fireplace, your dogs, your cats, your kids. The odor of your life is who you are.”

Hmmm. I like wearing fragrances by Chanel and Jo Malone, but am I more truly defined by Eau de Tidy Cats? “The odor of my life” is a rather dusty, musky smell, and there is no denying Mr. Ellena’s observation that our bodily scents reveal who we are.

Know me, know my cats.

Query of the Day: Kitty cologne, anyone?

What's in a Name?

Oprah is always in the news. My feeble connection to the omnipotent O is that when I was working summers in between high school in Chicago, I interned for an attorney who went on to become Oprah’s personal attorney. I can understand easily why Oprah chose her best friend, Gayle King, to serve as editor-at-large of a magazine that bears Oprah’s imprint. Who knows better than her closest confidante how to reflect the essence of Oprah on paper?

While reading last Sunday’s New York Times profile of Ms. King, I came across a comment that intrigued me: “Other editors rely on her to know what Oprah would want without even having to ask….She is, in other words, a licensed Oprah-ologist.”

Maybe my self-appointed name of “Cat Lady” is too simplistic. Should I go by a more precise moniker, such as “Lucius-ologist”? Actually, I like to think that all of our ten cats, and not just Lucius, rely on me to know intuitively what they need, without ever having to meow. But “Cat Lady-ologist” sounds too clinical for my taste.

Query of the Day: Any ideas for re-titling?

Cat Lady: The Performance

One of my friends alerted me that “the invitation was in the mail.” She said I would be surprised, perhaps even startled. The invitation was not for a wedding or a brunch, or a baby shower or a college graduation. The invitation was for the opening of a new multi-media theater piece at DiverseWorks, a premier art and performance space in Houston.

Would I be interested in attending Cat Lady, featuring Kristina Wong, and opening tomorrow night? I have to admit that the images reproduced on the invitation did not strike my [cat] fancy, but I also know that I need to broaden my horizons. My worldview of felines must continue to embrace all colors, shapes, sizes, and, I now realize, renditions.

Here’s the catch: The invitation copy is a turnoff to this Cat Lady who “performs” regularly for ten cats. “Cat Lady is Ed Hardy meets Lord of the Flies meets cat pee.” The performance “blends the parallel worlds of two pathetically lonely persons living at the margins of gender and society—musty cat ladies (who make solo performance for a living) and fast-talking male pick-up artists.” Hey, who are you calling “pathetically lonely” and “musty”? The invite also references “anecdotes from unmarried women who live alone with cats.” What is wrong with being unmarried and finding companionship with a feline?

Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve got my own reality show right at home. I may even consider streaming video because seeing is believing.

Query of the Day: Do you perform with your cats?

Secret Cat Lady

During the past two weeks, I kept hearing advertisements for a new reality TV show, “Secret Millionaire.” So I decided to watch its debut this past Sunday night.

I wish I could write that I have unlimited resources, and that I dig into my wallet often to give a huge wad of cash to an unsuspecting person in need. What I do relate to is lending a helping hand to turn around another's life.

Anyone who knows me understands that the ten cats my husband and I rescued have become a part of me. I make no secret of this simple, essential truth. Yet I continue to wonder whether stray cats can sense when a Cat Lady is in their midst, poised to rescue them.

Just the other day, I saw a stray white cat with a black tail sitting in our neighbor’s backyard. It was obvious that the cat was lost. He or she (I couldn’t tell, I was spying from a distance) had that painfully forlorn, glazed look, a look that registers, ”I have no idea where I am, but I need to get home.”

If I see this cat again, I will spring into action. There is no need for subterfuge. I'm set to "let the cat out of the bag” and to state my purpose clearly. I know my lines by heart:

Hello, I am Cat Lady. Follow me....

Query of the Day: Are you a Secret Cat Lady?

Don't Know Much About a Science Book

I am indebted to Heather for alerting me to the latest scientific findings on Cat Ladies. I have never pursued formal studies on the subject, relying mostly on my common sense as a member of the Cat Lady tribe and bolstered by my observations of the feline world. But for those of us seeking clinical confirmation of our kindred-spirit bond with cats, the article in today’s pet health section of msnbc.com is a must-read.

The article begins with this [I-know-that-already] statement: “The bond between cats and their owners turns out to be far more intense than imagined, especially for cat-aficionado women and their affection-reciprocating felines.” The article goes on to describe how women, more so then men, relate to cats, even nurturing them like children. "A human and a cat can mutually develop complex ritualized interactions that show substantial mutual understanding of each other's inclinations and preferences."

I read this article to Lucius, who nodded his head in complete agreement. No sooner did I announce “RITUAL” to Lydia then she sprang into action, running to slurp water from the kitchen sink at her customary hour. As a variation on “You say tomato, I say tomahto,” I said “L.B.,” and he grunted, “food.”

Yes, “complex ritualized interactions” with our ten cats keep me busy at all odd and even hours of the day, and I also understand their sign language. I may not be scientifically inclined, but I am able to interpret He Who Must Be Obeyed.

Query of the Day: How often do your cats return your favors of kindness?

“Start Spreading the Mews”

I take no issue with the time-honored tradition of Brits loving their dogs. But you can imagine how thrilled I was to read, courtesy of a “breaking ‘mews’” alert from my friend and colleague Clifford, that a cat has taken up residence in 10 Downing Street.

Larry the cat was previously a stray before Prime Minister David Cameron decided to adopt him. The Prime Minister needed a mouser, whereas I suspect Larry will grow tired of that occupation and insist on being seated in official sessions of Parliament. Who knows whether Larry was picked for his coloring, or for his Conservative policies? I am willing to bet that Larry will change parties, if necessary, to keep the peace at his new home.

I understand that Prime Minister Cameron and his two sons are cat people. Does this mean that Larry might accompany the Cameron family to Westminster Abbey this coming April and have a front-row seat at the wedding of the century?

God Save the Queen may soon compete with a new refrain, “Long Live Larry.”

Query of the Day: Why did you adopt your first cat?

On Beds and Bonding

Now that I've got your attention with the title of today's post, let me explain.

I flew the Catland coop for two days to attend the College Art Association Book Fair in New York City. It was heartening and professionally reassuring to visit so many trade booths promoting art books. Who says that conventional publishing is dead, and that niche publishing cannot survive?

I was struck by the number of books devoted to art collections, and I was intrigued by the personal stories of the collectors whose passions had fueled their desires to acquire. Naturally, I thought often of my "collection" at home, an assemblage of living creatures who defy categorization. I didn't see any books on feline collectibles and trinkets, but I could visualize the look on the faces of my cats when they saw that their Cat Lady had returned home.

I was tired from the trip, and I decided to go to sleep early last night. One by one, our six cats in the house came to me, leaping onto the bed and settling at their favorite resting points. I asked my husband if Lucius, Lydia, Leo, Linus, L.B., and Alvar had slept in our bedroom while I was out of town. He replied, "No, they never sleep in our bed without you." I didn't realize that their bond was so physical, so literal to the point that the bed becomes off-limits when Cat Lady leaves town.

And as I dozed off, I remember thinking that there is perhaps one differential between an art collector and me: I have no need to bemoan the one that got away.

Query of the Day: Do your cats nap elsewhere while you're away?

The Cat's Pajamas

We had a snow day in Houston this past Friday, and while I was contemplating that oxymoron from my perch at Catland, I thought about what might make our cats even more comfortable during the so-called artic blast.

I had just finished a load of laundry, and out came the flannel jammies from the dryer. I noticed Lucius eyeing the newest pair that I had given my husband for one of his Christmas presents. As I continued to sort the laundry, placing the flannel in its own special pile, I had an idea. Why not put the term "cat's pajamas" to work?

I artfully arranged four pairs of pajamas at the end of a bed so that the cats could recline leisurely. You would have thought that I had dispensed a week's supply of feline treats all at once; I can't remember seeing our cats look so insanely happy.

Happiness quickly led to pajama envy, and Lucius indicated that he wanted to sleep on the pajama bottom that Alvar had claimed as his own. I fear it's too late in the shopping season to find another matching pair of winter wear for Lucius, but the thaw is on and I have no excuse not to leave the house, finally!

Query of the Day: Do your cats like to sleep on your pajama tops or bottoms?

Cats by the Dozen

January has come and almost gone, and I am kicking myself for not being sufficiently entrepreneurial during the past year. I had the right tools to work with, so to speak, but I missed the mark. I should have published my very own Cat Calendar, just like the one issued by United Bamboo.

I am only two cat shorts of a perfect dozen, and I like to think that any one of the felines of Catland could go paw to paw with the handsome model pictured here on United Bamboo's 2011 calendar. This year's calendar features female felines dripping in beads and sequins, with the males sporting regatta jackets and other suitable attire.

I have thought often of outfitting Lucius in a “mad about plaid” blazer and dressing L.B. in a Saints football jersey. Lydia is a natural for a leopard-print Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, and Lillie would look especially fetching in a caramel suede jacket with a fox fur collar and removable hood. I could go on and on about my fashionable expectations for our ten cats.

But I’m no Tiger Mother, making controversial statements about what children must do to earn parental approval. I am Cat Lady, and my furry kids have free reign at home. They are who they are, and it's not my place to judge harshly whether they choose to drape themselves in fleece or flannel blankets; there is no right or wrong fabric. I insist only on their good grooming at all times.

Query of the Day: Will you please send me photos of your Mr. February?

C’mon, Get Happy!

Emily—yes, THE Emily who rescued Bleu/Blue from a life behind bars—has asked how to tell if a cat is happy. That is a great question for a Cat Lady to ponder, and I will attempt to assure Emily, who became a Cat Lady overnight, that she has provided Blue with all of the vital ingredients for leading a long and happy life.

Emily’s dog wags his tale affectionately and also licks faces and slobbers (the last word is a direct quote from Emily, by the way) to demonstrate his undying devotion. Like most cats, Blue is much subtler in expressing his satisfaction.

He has already chosen his favorite places in Emily’s house for lounging during the day and sleeping at night. He has never met a particle of food that he doesn’t like, and the food bowls are filled for his delectation. I could give other concrete examples, but the short of it is that Blue lacks for nothing, thanks to Emily and her husband’s largesse. I feel confident that all Emily need do to answer her own question is to put her ear next to Blue’s.

I can hear him purring and whispering now, “I’m LOVIN’ this!”

Query of the Day: What makes your cat happiest?

Desktop Kitties

A friend has alerted me to a new product that is tailor-made for Cat Ladies who office at home, either permanently or from time to time. The company Opulent Items has introduced a desktop cat bed, pictured here. The product’s tagline reads, “Your cat rests while you work,” which makes perfect sense given the way the feline world works.

Much as I am intrigued by this product, I need to consult my checkbook. At $40 a pop, I’m looking at an investment of $240 to buy six cat beds. I wouldn’t want any one of our cats at home to become jealous, and I have a very strong suspicion that Lucius would hop from cat bed to cat bed, making sure that he observes me from every possible angle.

Maybe there is another manufacturer on the market that can meet my specific needs. What I have in mind is a single tower that holds six beds at varying heights. The effect would be similar to that of this exquisite work from the museum’s collection of Indian art. Yes, that’s it, a kitty version of Shiva Nataraja! And just like the figure that is the Hindu temple sculpture, I would perform a blissful dance, grateful for pleasing my charges.

Query of the Day: Would you read product reviews by this Cat Lady?

Still Life with Champagne and Cat Chow

As we were ringing in a new year at Catland, I found myself wondering whether cats, like humans, make resolutions for health and prosperity.

For instance, did Lucius vow to wean himself of neediness, to be less demanding in his senior years? Did L.B. say, “I’ll lose 11 pounds in 2011”? Did Alvar take a deep breath and promise to befriend Lucius? And so on and so forth.

This still life with champagne and cat chow will not win an award for artistry, but I like the composition for this simple reason: I am reminded of who I was, and of who I have become. In the B.C. days, I had more time to attend art-gallery and exhibition openings, where champagne and other forms of bubbly were poured freely. In my current state of being, as Cat Lady, I am like the waiter at those art events from ten years ago, passing the hors d’oeuvres and checking attentively on refills—only my “customers” are cats.

Sitting at our kitchen counter on New Year’s Eve, surrounded by the cats’ plates and bowls of food, made me appreciate even more the basic necessities of life. Yes, like most people, I get a kick from champagne, but it is a luxury, after all. The love and companionship of our felines is an indispensable daily pleasure.

Query of the Day: Do you keep ample inventory of Piper-Heidsieck and Purina?