Power Outage

One of my worst nightmares occurred about an hour ago. Have you ever been in the midst of changing a litter box when your home loses its electricity?

I couldn't remember where I had stored our flashlights. Our disaster preparedness protocol is null and void. But I was bound and determined to have clean litter for our cats, come hell or high water or no power.  There needs to be a "Cat Lady Action Plan" for those of us who like to keep busy during our darkest hours. I made my way to the Lysol spray, all the while feeling annoyed.

L.B. was also extremely annoyed. I couldn't see him in the dark, yet I could hear him loud and clear. He was eating everything he could smell. I guess he reverted to his doomsday scenario, meaning
"tank up fast."

Now that power has been restored, L.B. is sleeping peacefully, and I can write to you once again from a well-lit Catland!

Wherefore Art Thou, Cat Lady?

Oh, I am here in Houston, Texas, and feeling extremely guilty about not being in touch with you for two months now. But the "art" part of my life took over, as the Museum published fast and furiously on subjects that range from bitter artistic rivals (catfights in the colonial art world!) to assemblages by Antonio Berni.

Back on the feline front, I remain confused by Panther. Or does he have an alter ego? Something is amiss in the backyard at Catland. Cat Man and I also recently greeted an adorable, probably six-month-old kitty, whom I have named Pye (after Pyewacket, of course). She has the sweetest tabby face and a tiny tortoiseshell body, and trapping her so as to proceed with shots and spaying is my Number 1 priority.

I am honored to be joining the opening celebrations tomorrow night at Save A Cat, a new, no-kill rescue shelter for felines. I was invited to sign copies of Cat Lady Chronicles, and I hope you will stop by to support the shelter's cause. The shelter is housed in a bungalow that is conveniently located across the street from a Petsmart store on Alabama at Shepherd. Please come and adopt your new best feline friend for life! And let's you and I be catty in the best sense of the word.

The Panther Trap

No, I haven't yet trapped Panther, the stray black cat

who visits our backyard almost every morning, usually at 5:45 a.m. and never later than 6:30 a.m., to tank up for the day.

I have made considerable progress trying to tame Panther during the past eight months. But trapping him eludes my grasp. He is far too feral and wily.

What concerns me even more is whether Panther has a body double. Cat Man has a theory that there are in fact two Panthers, sort of like the identical twins that Hayley Mills played in The Parent Trap. Who knows, maybe Panther, in a previous life, saw the 1961 film and was inspired. As usual, I am dating myself, although I like to think Panther purposely chose a Cat Lady of a certain age to initiate him into the ways of the domestic world.

So, why does Panther let me pet his head on some mornings, whereas he rebuffs me on other mornings? He loves me, he loves me not. And he hisses when he plays the Evil Twin. Lots of fireworks at the crack of dawn!

Still, I want to help get Panther off the streets of Houston and to find him a safe home. I came across a photo from Vogue, c. 1962, that might also inspire Panther to think seriously about committing to a future life of indoor bliss.

The Cat Lady Recap

Is there ever a slow news day when it comes to our own cats or those felines who make headlines? I can’t keep up! I apologize for being so slow on the blogger’s draw this month. Here is a quick recap of the weeks that were.

Does your cat like to play with “feline-appropriate” apps on your iPad or other mobile device? I was not surprised to learn from a Wall Street Journal article that app developers are selling “Game for Cats” on iTunes, with great success. At our house, L.B. prefers laptops—traditionalist that he is—and insists that closing the deal for treats, treats, and more treats works best when he sits on top of the keyboard rather than on a flat screen whose width is much smaller than that of his waistline(sorry to be so blunt, L.B., because I do appreciate your efforts to diet). Put simply, L.B. does not need an app to be challenged mentally or to get his point across to his caregivers.

I have suspected for a long time that Lillie was a hair stylist before she was reincarnated as one of the most sensual feline creatures imaginable. Because the heat and humidity in Houston are reaching their most uncomfortable levels right now, I am experimenting with some new hair-care products. Lillie recognizes the scent of newly washed hair, and she always wants me to lower my head close to her nose so that she can inhale the perfumes that invigorate styling gels and “frizz-busting cremes.” Of course, Lillie also likes that I bow in deference to her authority as the reigning beauty of Catland.

That’s not to say that Lydia has lost her looks. In fact, she found a new method this month of keeping her little fanny from a fate worse than death, otherwise known as the middle-age-woman’s “spread.” Just say the word “massager,” and Miss Lydia comes running to my feet or to Cat Man’s. She is ready for some serious massaging, courtesy of an electric back-rubbing wand. Note to self: Never underestimate Lydia’s insatiable need for undivided attention.

When it comes to highly profitable attention, how about the street cat named Bob, who is nothing short of a babe magnet? I saw a brief video of author James Bowen and his beloved Bob working the crowds at a bookstore signing to launch the U.S. distribution of A Street Cat Named Bob. There were a lot of women waiting on line to snap pictures of the once-lonely and injured stray cat who has achieved his deserved fame and fortune.

Mr. Bowen’s literary agent revealed in Sunday’s New York Times Book Review that much of the success of the book can be attributed not only to its heartfelt tale of redemption, but to this golden rule: “Also, a lot of people just. Love. Cats.” You. Think?

I was delighted to find an active forum for cat lovers on Squidoo: http://www.squidoo/com/-crazy-cat-lady-reasons. I was even more delighted to discover that Cat Lady Chronicles had made the cut as recommended reading for “crazy cat ladies.” I am taking this designation to mean “crazy-passionate for cats,” and I am indeed proud to be in such “demented” company.

There is no better validation of a Cat Lady’s cause than the paws-up praise offered by a cat. Meet Walter, an exceedingly handsome feline who was rescued about 18 months ago after being abandoned on a street in Houston’s Heights neighborhood.

Walter has been living very comfortably at The Cat Doctor’s clinic ever since, but he would still like to find a home with a full-time Cat Lady or a Cat Man at his beck and call. Apparently, when Walter makes his daily rounds at the clinic to stretch his legs, he likes to pause and read a chapter or two from my book. Thank you, Walter, for the not-so-subtle endorsement. If you know of a kind soul who could give Walter a new home, please contact me. I would be honored to make the introduction.

Sexy Cat Ladies

Way back when, circa the 1970s, I used to save my pennies from summer internships at the Chicago Sun-Times and treat myself to a signature dress or two by Diane von Furstenberg. I loved her then-new wrap dress, and the Lord & Taylor store on Bolyston Street in Boston used to hold twice-yearly sales that even a college student could afford to shop. I always felt like a grown-up when I wore one of “the other Diane’s” dresses.

Time marched on, and here we are, in 2013, still admiring the fashion designer’s now-iconic wrap dress. A recent New York Times magazine profile of “DVF,” as she is known to her legions of fans worldwide, gave me another reason to want to return to the stores and purchase her label.

I do not remember Vogue, maybe ten years ago, calling Diane von Furstenberg “an exotic catwoman seductress”! But I enthusiastically second that motion. This Diane has the “catwoman” part nailed down, and I can relate to empire-building, à la colonies of adopted felines. “Exotic” and “seductress” will require baby steps.



Designers Diane von Furstenberg and Yvan Mispelaere on the catwalk at the Diane von Furstenberg Spring 2012 fashion show during Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week in New York City.


Photo credit: Getty Images
Query of the Day: Are you a sexy Cat Lady?

In Mourning

Since Lucius passed away little more than a month ago, I have refrained from blogging. This was not a deliberate choice. Every time I sat down to write, I thought about how Lucius was always on my mind whenever I blogged, and about how much my home environment has changed immeasurably. But I miss communicating with fellow Cat Ladies, and I could have sworn I heard Lucius encouraging me just last night—when insomnia kicked in—to recharge my batteries. Here, in brief, is what I have learned during the past five weeks.

I was aware that cats experience grieving, that they mourn the loss of their human parents and/or their feline companions. I can add firsthand experience to my book-learned knowledge, having observed Lydia, Leo, Linus, L.B., and Alvar attempt to get their bearings without an alpha cat in the house. Each of our five cats (the four cats in the garage apartment never had the distinct pleasure of meeting Lucius) has reacted differently to Lucius’s death, and I have been surprised, and saddened, most by Alvar’s displays of grief.

Lydia appears to be lost without her attentive soul mate. She and Lucius were virtually joined at the hip for thirteen years, and the male cats in the house do not dare infringe officially on Lucius’s territory. Lydia is not inconsolable, but she keeps her distance from the other cats and is sleeping even more than her usual 18 hours per day. I praise and coddle her—she is beautiful, after all—,and she resists my sincere flattery.

Leo, ever the gentle cat, is mourning silently. He likes to sleep in all of the spots where Lucius enjoyed resting, particularly on what became his last days. Linus, who is still the size of a kitten, is asserting himself after a respectable period of mourning. He loved Lucius, even worshipped him at times. Lucius had that Svengali-like effect on younger cats. If I were a betting Cat Lady, I would wager that Linus will become the new alpha cat (trapped in his runt-of-the-litter body).

L.B. was the prince of all princes to Lucius in his final hours on June 12. L.B. apparently understood what was happening to Lucius, and L.B. could not bear to say goodbye. He seems to have recovered from his sadness, though I suspect his renewed zest for overeating is motivated by anxiety and a fear of the unknown.

Alvar was the object of Lucius’s scorn and ridicule ever since we rescued him from the street, nine years ago. Alvar and Lucius—once bitter enemies—reconciled several years ago; before he died, Lucius was especially solicitous toward Alvar, as if he wanted to apologize for his misbehavior and taunting. I had always assumed that Alvar’s happiest day would come when he realized that Lucius was no longer alive. The opposite is true.

Alvar stared at the peeling paint on an all-white wall in the upstairs bathroom. For a change of scenery, he sat inside of a spare litter box that I store in a cabinet underneath the bathroom sink. For three weeks, Alvar maintained this routine, and he rarely ate. Who would have guessed that Alvar would miss his feuding partner? Alvar finally emerged from hiding on July 4, acknowledging his newfound independence.

All I can say, as of this writing, is that I have seen the future of losing all of my cats, and the future is very sad, indeed. The moral of today’s story is hardly original, so forgive me for stating the obvious: We Cat Ladies must live every day to the fullest with our beloved furry friends.

And Then There Were Nine

I always dreaded the day that I would need to write this blog post, in which I would announce that Lucius Lyndon Lovejoy had died. Until now, I wasn’t ready to write about Lucius’s passing. Lucius drew his last breath on the afternoon of June 12, only one week ago. He was 16, yet once the time came for Michael and me to say our final good-bye to Lucius, our beloved cat looked young again, and at peace with the world.

Because Lucius, in his late senior years, continued to defy the medical odds, I foolishly hoped he would live longer. Still, I had come to understand in the past few months that measuring his life in years was no longer realistic.

Lucius had willed his diabetes into remission. He had stared down pancreatitus. He had survived having a number of his teeth pulled and had overcome periodontal issues related to gum disease. He could not win his hard-fought battle with chronic renal failure.

Lucius also suffered deeply and routinely from anxiety. I can’t help but conclude that the stress he brought on himself contributed to his physical deterioration. Nonetheless, it is difficult to imagine Lucius liberated from his “issues.” His fragile mental state defined him. He had more empathy than some people I know (sad, but true). Michael and I gladly would take back all the “bad days”—of Lucius literally destroying furniture and bedding in our house—just to have one additional moment with him.

A number of my closest friends and colleagues have written to me about Lucius’s legacy. I had the privilege of writing about Lucius regularly in blog posts during the past few years, and at more length recently in Cat Lady Chronicles. Thanks to the media’s coverage of my book, Lucius saw his name in print in Cat Fancy, no less. I am boasting as his Cat Lady, but it is safe to say that journalists were intrigued by Lucius, a cat who inspired unconditional love.

I take some comfort knowing that, in my own way, I helped to spread the word about a truly remarkable creature. I am not in the habit of disagreeing with my mother, who said that Michael and I were remarkable also, “showing compassion and understanding.” How could anyone not appreciate and admire Lucius’s gifts?

Rest in peace, Little Man. You changed my life, and it is not the same without you.

Lucius Lyndon Lovejoy, in his youth