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?