Letter 48 - A concatenation of felines

“Get thee to a cattery!” So said Hamlet to Ophelia in Shakespeare’s first draft after she compared Hamlet’s odor to that of his dogs - “A hound by any other name would smell like you, you cur!”

Yes, the play still had some bugs to work out. But I felt a strange affinity to the lines as I am indeed contemplating getting myself to a cattery. A task that’s less straightforward than one might hope. They can be elusive beasts, these catteries.

But let’s step back for a second and contemplate. As we all know, the world is largely divided into two classes of people:

Dog people, ignoring those who keep their dogs simply to maul unwelcome visitors to their junkyards, are people who like a pets who’ll worship the ground they walk upon, who pine for them in their absence and who ask for nothing in return other than walkies, belly rubs and permission to eviscerate all squirrels on sight.

Cat people, on the other paw, are those who want a pet that shows affection by raising an ironic eyebrow and who might deign to be fed as long as the offering is of sufficiently high quality.

And speaking of offerings, did you know that ancient Egyptians worshipped their cats? Yet more proof that people haven’t changed even a little bit over the last few millennia.

In my early years my only cat interactions involved random intersections with someone who owned one. The cat would invariably rub up against my leg and I figured I was just inherently attractive due to my lustrous inner spirit. Only later did I learn they were simply rubbing off some pheromones to show that I was now owned by them, just as all the furniture already was. Just call me an end table.

I also noticed that cats packed a magical purr which, along with their insistence on rubbing their oh-so-soft fur against you, combined to force otherwise solid and independent sorts to give voice to observations such as “Awww, what a cute widdle kitty!”

Persuasive, no doubt, and yet it wasn’t enough. And so Morris, the cat god in the sky, decided to get serious by having my son bring his male Siberian over for an extended visit. And this guy raised it to 11. You know how minks have a super soft coat? (Which seems kind of unnecessary for something that’s camping outdoors 24/7 but what can you say?) Well, the Siberian gives the mink a run for its money. Soooo soft. Sooo warm. Sooo cuddly.

Well, actually no on that last one. Tygra is happy to let you rub his widdle head or stroke his widdle neck but he doesn’t actively seek it out. Quite the mysterious Sphinx, is he. Does he like it or does he just endure it? Only his hairdresser knows for sure. And given the triple coat, he definitely NEEDS a hairdresser. Man, regular grooming and brushing required? Who would want to deal with THAT?!

(Someone who has a Bichon Frisé, that’s who.)

I’ve read that Siberians are just like dogs and love to play fetch. But I dunno …

In any event, Tygra was enough to push my wife over the edge and start talking about acquiring a Siberian of our own.

But wait, I hear you exclaim. What exactly IS a Siberian? Isn’t that a dog? Well, yes, there is a Siberian Husky. Nice bow wow. But there’s also a Siberian cat or, more completely, a Siberian Forest cat. Bred to withstand the harsh climate of Siberia, they’re the national cat of Russia and also flat out gorgeous. And they’re great guards, stationing themselves at the stairs to keep any miscreant from sneaking up:

In addition to their silky triple coat and muscular bods, they have one other thing (potentially) going for them. They’re hypoallergenic. Or, at least, they can be. It wasn’t super easy to get to the bottom of it, due to some breeders liking to overstate the case, but basically the thing which causes most people who are cat-allergic to be that way is a protein called Fel d 1. And Siberians as a breed produce less of it. In some cats almost zero, in lots of them a relatively low amount, and in some the same as any other cat. So … it’s not a slam dunk to get a low allergy Siberian by any means. Caveat emptor and that sort of thing.

All of which means more research. Which, I might complain, isn’t helped by the various catteries being super non-responsive in general. Maybe they’re overloaded with emails, maybe they have enough business from prior clients, maybe they just like playing coy. Whatever the reason, getting a back and forth going has been as easy as … as … herding cats! That’s the right analogy!

I could continue with what’s turning into “how to buy a cat” but what suddenly struck me is the major purpose of cats. Namely to be cartoon characters. I guess in the cartooning realm Garfield is the biggest man on campus. Who else? Felix the Cat was huge back in his day. He had a magic bag of tricks and I don’t know ANYBODY who wouldn’t like one of those.

In animation we’ve got Tom from Tom and Jerry. Does Scratchy the cat, half of the Itchy and Scratchy duo qualify, both being obvious take-offs on Tom and Jerry? Sure, let’s let it count. And if they count, certain Tom himself does.

Anyone else? There’s Sylvester, the puddy tat. Who doesn’t love a cat with a speech impediment? And yet, there’s one more that I’ve not listed, perhaps the most deserving of all. The one, the only … Krazy Kat, the wondrous product of George Herriman’s fertile imaginings:

The entire ensemble carried out their lives in the Arizona desert backdrop of Coconino County, but the primary triad were Offissa Pupp, Ignatz Mouse and, the lodestone of both - Krazy Kat.

Everything about this strip was unique. The landscape was surreal and ever changing. Even from panel to panel, even if the characters didn’t themselves move. Trees in flower pots, moons that were crescents for real and not just from occluded light.

The language was unique as well, an overflowing bouquet of spellings and dialects.

Krazy would fit in well today, having a gender that seemed fluid and without any hard definition. Did Ignatz throw his bricks as a sign of affection? Krazy surely loved getting smacked by them. And Offissa Pupp clearly didn’t pursue Ignatz purely on professional grounds, he obviously held a torch for that eldritch cat.

Happily for Herriman, he lived back when newspapers had the space on offer for his expansive vision. Today’s micro-lots of space have no room for artistry of his type. Doubly happily for him, he had a fan. Actually, he had several, but in truth he didn’t find wide distribution - his work was too challenging. However, his true fan went by the name William Randolph Hearst. Hearst was so devoted to Herriman’s creation that he kept paying him even when Krazy Kat was in fewer than 50 papers. Only when Herriman died in 1944 did Hearst cancel it, because nobody could possibly have continued the work. He was a mentor who said, essentially, “Your work is pure art and I’ll support you for the rest of your life and let you create it as you see fit.”

Man, nice gig if you can get it, no?

If you’ve only heard of Krazy but never really dived into it, I recommend acquiring at least a black and white collection, like this one.

I’d recommend you get my collection that contains many of his Sunday colored creations but I note that on Amazon it’s well over a hundred bucks so perhaps just see if you can get something suitable from your local library.

And so, having run out of stuff to say, I’ll hand it over to our favorite kid, Nicky:

Nickyitis

New subscribers, free or otherwise, have been thin on the ground lately and so if you could share this around with your acquaintances, you’d be doing this cartoonist a solid.

And, as always, I’d love to hear your thoughts!