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?