I actually have a magnet on my frig that says this. And truer words were never spoken, written, printed, or silkscreened. I am avowed cat lover, and have the life-long membership card to prove it. My earliest feline memories go back to the age of four, the time during which I pestered my mother to death about getting a cat. She finally relented, and I remember clutching the first cutie-pie to ever enter my life, my black-and-white Tina, in my hands.
As a female of my own species, I never played with dolls. Collected a few, yes. Played with them, no. Even back then, it was too gender-specific a role for me and came across as a waste of time and energy.
But cats were another thing. I remember my first kitty so vividly because of all the fuzzy love and joy she brought to my life. And I remember being so proud that I marched up to our landlady, Mrs. Terry, and introduced her to Tina with the kind of enthusiasm that only a four-year-old can muster.
What I didn’t realize, however, was the utter jeopardy I placed my new charge in during that moment of sharing. Turns out we lived in a “no pets” establishment. I was lucky Mrs. Terry liked me, and Tina was eventually joined by Pansy. There are always exceptions to the rules.
Since those childhood days, I have been the benefactor of much cat wisdom and first-hand knowledge. I have a connection to somewhat feral cats, which may be the reason I find it utterly incomprehensible when I hear people say cats have no personality. On what planet, dude? Cats are a wonder and puzzlement wrapped up in fuzzy logic. They are fiercely loyal, strongly independent, and exceedingly willful.
And that brings me to Izzi, who truly knows where the best seat in my house is.
I work out of my home office, rapping out stories at a furious pace. Due to the nature of my work, I spend considerable chunks of time with my posterior plopped in a chair at the same time I am conducting a symphony on the keyboard. Years ago, I decided to reward myself by purchasing a really nice, expensive leather executive office chair. Since I clock so much time in stationary mode, I figured the expenditure was well worth it.
Right…and so did Izzi.
I went to Office Max and literally sat in each office chair they had in stock, purposely neglecting to look at price tags. Sometimes one has to be kind to one’s behind. When the empirical investigation was finished, I predictably picked out the two most expensive chairs on the floor. That’s when I decided to see just how many stories I’d have to write to cover my ass.
Well, I settled on Chair Number Two, as Chair Number One – the pole favorite – was twice the price. And Chair Number Two wasn’t exactly a financial slouch. I think of the potentially flamboyant ad the acclaimed Ricardo Montelban could have generated for this rather sensual piece of furniture.
A defining characteristic of the chair is its cushy, cupped seat which allows your back side to gently slide into place. With the ergonomic design and plush padding, I can execute my professional duties atop a comfortable tush.
Izzi has also figured this out. She’s a little bugger, maybe weighing in at 7 or so pounds. Of all the chairs in the house, this is the one she likes to catnap in. That’s an intuitive obviosity: it’s the most expensive chair in the house. Interestingly, the curvature of the chair seat even provides her with a perfect nestling spot, complete with a kitty pillow.
She and I battle for the chair when it’s work time for me, and ultimately she wins. If I get a phone call, she jumps in. If I have to make a pit stop, she jumps in. If it’s time for lunch…well, you know what’s coming.
So I have lost the battle, but am still trying to win the war. I ended up buying a much less expensive executive office chair (this one fashioned from good ol’ American naugahyde) from a neighbor. Think the battle is over? Think again. Izzi has taught her feline friend and compatriot, Cali, the pleasures of a dozy life in the home office. So now I have two, count ‘em two, cats clocking time in the captain’s chairs. As if they’d be anywhere else.
Cali is a Maine Coon busting the scales at 15 pounds, so she’s harder to move. Where I would describe Izzi as a mellow kinda girl with a “whatever” kind of attitude, Cali is a whole different animal. You wouldn’t want to rumble with Cali. She’s loving and free-spirited, but would dare you to try. So to accommodate everyone, I am forced to wheel in my rather small and uncomfortable sewing chair, just so we can all get along.
Talk about gato occupato!
