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.