Cat

Dear Isabella,
You don’t deserve this letter. Cats aren’t man’s best friend for good reason; for one thing, dogs put their owners’ emotional needs before their own. Cats—well, you know what cats are like, because you happen to be one yourself.

But you outdo every other cat I know. Other cats are Boy Scouts compared to you. Unlike Scouts, you’re not trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, or reverent.

Trustworthy? You lie through your teeth. Five minutes after downing a morsel of salmon, you’ll swear to my wife that you had nothing to eat all day. Not in so many words, but pathetic meowing and big Bambi eyes say volumes. Forget about loyalty. You make eyes at every male stranger who comes through the door, while taking an occasional swipe at women and small children. So much for friendly and courteous as well. No cat is helpful, so I’ll give you a bye on that one.

Here’s your version of kindness: When I sit in my favorite chair, you jump up as if you’re going to snuggle onto my lap. Then you squeeze between me and the chair’s arm and push with all four paws until I get up.

Obedient? Don’t make me laugh. I come when you call. Cheerful? Have you ever met an openly cheerful cat? OK, maybe you are thrifty. You never gave anyone anything of value, except for the live mouse you left on my daughter’s bed when she was 8. You’re brave sometimes and a coward at others, clean except when you forget, and certainly not reverent.

You’ll say all this is not your fault, that I’m just a besotted pet owner. And you do have these big bat ears and the most beautiful green eyes. But when you’re bored, you suddenly bite my hand, and when I throw you off me, you take a flying leap at my ankle. This seems to be your idea of play. If you were a 10-year-old human, you would spend most of your waking hours banished to “quiet time.”

So why do my wife, Dorothy, and I spoil you the way we never spoiled our kids? I scratch your back four times a day. Dorothy goes around the house refilling half a dozen water glasses because you don’t like to drink out of a bowl. Maybe we spoil you rotten because we miss the kids, off at college. But there just might be a higher, nobler purpose to all this: You lend grace to our lives.

Not deliberately, of course; if you knew you were lending us anything, you’d probably try to take it back. But someone once described grace as giving something when it’s not deserved, and withholding punishment when it is. Perhaps that’s why the ancient Egyptians thought cats were sacred. It couldn’t have been anything the cats deserved. But then, maybe that’s the point.
Thanks, Isabella.

Love,
Jay

Jay Heinrichs is the editorial director of Spirit.

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Maybe Jay doesn’t think Isabella deserves a love letter, but what about a website? At catster.com, you can post pictures of your kitty, chat with other cat lovers, and read message-board discussions about caring for your pet.

In ancient Egypt, people took their cats—not their dogs—on hunting trips, trained them to fetch birds and fish, and generally regarded them as gods. The felines even got mummified so they could accompany their owners into the next life. Click here for more details.

For a cat that wouldn’t even make the Boy Scout roster, Isabella’s got a love letter and a book to her name. Check out Jay’s article on self-publishing, “How I (Could Have) Made Millions Off My Cat,” from our November issue.