Here, Pussy, Pussy

I’ve always hated cats. I’m a dog person. Dogs make sense. They love a good cuddle and come when you call them. Cats scratch and hiss when you come near. Dogs serve and protect. Cats purr seductively when they want something and then swat at you when they're through.

So men who like cats have always raised red flags for me. They tend to be drawn to “catty” women, who, like their feline counterparts, play games, lure you in with pretended charms, and then scratch you to bleeding bits when you get close. These men should be avoided. People should pay more attention to the pet section on dating websites -- could save them the grief caused by the cat/punishment-loving sort. I guarantee they will just reject you the minute they sense you need them. Abort. Abort.

Women who have cats, however, are a whole different story. With few exceptions, they deserve our pity. They’ve signed up for these loveless companions--creatures who will never return their affections, no matter how much nip they give them. So it’s fair to say that women of a certain age who have never been married and have more than 2 cats have just given up the prospect of love entirely. My best friend lives next to a single woman in her sixties in a rent-controlled apartment with a 70’s Technicolor “I Love Cats!” poster on the exterior of her front door. Turns out, she doesn’t even have a cat. This, I find, most disturbing. If there was an a suspicious person task force that was not terrorism related, I’d feel compelled to report her.

Then there is the woman who lives in the building next to us who just lost her cat. I feel sorry for her (really, I do). She has papered our entire neighborhood with “Missing Cat” signs. The post right outside our building has, count ‘em, 6 signs on it: at the 2 foot, 3 foot, 4 foot, 5’ , 6’ and 7’ foot marks: I guess in case dwarves AND giants are on the lookout. After 3 catless days, she added the words “$100 reward. Nothing. What if she upped the ante? Would her cat be returned? Is a dwarf keeping her cat, waiting for her to hit the $250 threshold so he can upgrade his I-pod? A few days later came “Needs meds” crazy-scribbled in red ink on the signs. Was she referring to herself … or the cat? When she encountered me on the street, however, it became unclear who was in direst need.

I was standing in front of our 25-floor hi rise building and, naturally, a pole plastered with cat posters. “Have you seen my cat?” The voice and the woman really came out of nowhere. “Uh, no.” “She needs her meds,” she quickly added (This is awful—truly, but really doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t seen her). “I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen her.” She continued, “I keep thinking she might be in someone’s basement or first floor apartment. Do you think you can help me?” “Um, I don’t have access to anyone’s apartment—or their basement.” “Do you know who lives on the first floor?,” she persisted. I wanted to answer: “This is Manhattan. I don’t know who lives NEXT DOOR to me,” but I swallowed my sarcasm and answered “No, sorry.” “I just keep thinking she’s in an apartment—or the basement--needing her meds.” “Again, I’m so sorry.” (Me now trying to end this conversation). Then she went for it: “Are you sure she’s not in YOUR apartment?” “Really, really sure,” I answer. “I’m allergic. I’d notice.” (No response, so I continue). “In fact, I live on the fifth floor, so, basically your cat would have to get permission to enter from my doorman and ask someone to press “five.” She didn’t find this amusing and curtly thanked me before going back into her apartment.

I’ve always wondered how successful these “lost pet” paper campaigns are. Frankly, I don’t’ know if I would recognize a pet from his or her black-and-white photocopied picture. And even if I DID see a cat skulking about the neighborhood would I actually attempt to capture it? What if it were the wrong cat and I got rabies? Even if it were the RIGHT cat, I might get clawed to bits in the attempt, as so many cat lovers refuse to de-claw (being sadomasochists and all). Maybe I’d just scream “I see pussy!” at the very top of my lungs and see who comes. (no double entendre intended, btw). That sounds like a fun, free Saturday night in the naked city.

A few days later, I noticed a man tearing her posters down—one by one. I’d love to say he was a fellow conscientious cat objector, but I’d seen him do this before: in response to signage advertising an upcoming street fair. But this time it was actually painful to watch. This one woman’s hard work spoiled by an obsessive-compulsive who detests papering. “Stop!” I almost yelled. But I didn’t. I know I should have (Just imagine if Dudley, our beloved dog, were missing!), but he was so driven, it didn’t seem wise to interfere. At the end of the day, I didn’t want to get into it with him … over a damn cat.

Mommy Chain Letters

I have always hated chain letters. They're annoying--even illegal. But mommy chain letters take the cake. They try and capitalize on your inherent guilt as a mother to make you propagate the chain. Take the infamous "book chain letter." It promises that if you send just ONE book to the child listed in the letter, then make 5 copies of the letter and send it along to 5 other moms, your child will receive 36 new books.

At best, your child will receive 36 books he already has. At worst, you stand to lose either one or five friends. Your call. Let me explain.

If you don't do this, the mom who sent this to you will think you think you're too good for her lousy chain letter and, more, think your time is more valuable than hers. Plus, you will have denied her kid his 36 books. You think you'll have a playdate on Monday? No chance.

If you DO do this, the five busy moms you send the letter to -- 5 women with better things to do -- will similarly think you don't value THEIR time, will feel the conflict and guilt you felt, resent you for that, and, quite fairly, hate you forever. No more playdates Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday ...

Oh, and let's be clear: These books aren't meant for kids in townships. They're going to affluent Upper West Side toddlers with already extensive libraries whose moms would probably hail the first cab they could find to Pottery Barn Kids to secure appropriate shelving should 36 new books arrive at their doorstep.

Your first instinct, then, is to throw this dreadful thing away. Then you realize the person who sent it to you will be pissed off, their child will not receive the promised 36 books and you're denying your own progeny his books, to boot. Shit. You're off to the bookstore.

So, you go to the damn bookstore, stress over what kind of book this kid you never met before will like, rush to the office and realize you left the letter with his address at home. For days, letter and book never meet. In the meantime, you do something the person who sent this damn letter to you never did: ASK others if they'd be interested in participating in the book exchange. No one is. In fact, you get a taste of their wrath at the very prospect of being dragged into this morass.

So here you are with a $10 book, no UPS store near the office, so you need to use Fed-Ex 3 day (an extra $5) and you can't--nor do you WANT to share the nuisance/muster the 5 friends to send it to, which means that the son of the mom who sent it to you won't get his 36 books, anyway. She'll be pissed. Your daughter will get zilch. And you're out $15 bucks.

Join a library, ladies.