Pope Benedict XVI and his cat.
I have a confession to make (actually it is a boast).  I have a cat.  Actually I have both a cat and a dog.  I love them both, for different reasons; the article below helps to explain why.  My cat is a gray tabby that I obtained from the local cat rescue Shelter.  She is about two years old.  Her name is Autumn, given to her by the Shelter, which I kept.  Of course she does not respond to her name when I say it, but she will look at me wondering what I have in mind.  She will however come to me when I call her “kitty, kitty, kitty”, which is not typical of most cats.  Here is a photo of Autumn under the Christmas tree:


  • August 25, 2013, 5:27 p.m. ET

Cats Are Actually Man’s Best Friend

It’s long past time for a little mutual respect between felines and their two-legged rulers.

    By Peter Mandel

Way down deep, we’re all motivated by the same urges. Cats have the courage to live by them.

—Jim Davis, creator of “Garfield”



There they crouch. The words “cat” and “courage” lurking in the same sentence. As an American man, I understand how I’m supposed to react.

“Cats?” I should object. “Give me a good mud-loving hound any day.” Despising felines—or pretending to—is a sex-role rule for us males as powerful as pulling on pants.

Buddies of mine complain on and on about the fact that cats don’t “come when called.” Some friends insist that they’re arrogant—measurably more so than we men. Above all, there is the threatening realization that women obviously seem to enjoy cats to emotional and cerebral depths that we guys don’t understand.

I am feeling a little embarrassed as I write this, but, well, we’re both at the top of the food chain. We have whiskers and they have whiskers. It’s time for the cold war between men and cats to end.

I write books for kids, including two with cats in them. And while I was ensnared by “Old Yeller” and “White Fang” as much as any boy, my favorite read growing up was something called “It’s Like This, Cat,” a 1964 novel by Emily Neville.

The book’s main character is a New York City kid, like I was. At one point, he says this: “Pop can have his memories of good old Jeff [the dog] and rabbit hunts, but I’m going to have me a tiger.”


Barbara Kelley

This idea—of a boy and his tiger—sounded absolutely primitive to me. Jungle dangerous and alley tough. After we adopted a shelter tabby, I went straight for my Animal Encyclopedia. It didn’t take much page-flipping to figure out that, despite so many tales about dogs who tug at the leash of shared adventure, even the laziest, fluffiest house cat is far more wild.

Compared with felines, canines have been man’s domestics roughly twice as long. A cat craves meat and knows how to prowl and to strike in order to obtain it more than any snarling Shepherd or Husky. In fact, unlike a dog, a feline will die if you try to make it a vegetarian.

I understand that there are men out there who’d just as soon grill chunks of fennel as a lamb chop. But even when we obsess over carrots or cilantro, we still harbor images of ourselves as just a little bit feral—able to build a fire and, in a pinch, trap some emergency food.

As a middle-aged guy who’s lived with tigers while his friends have kept wolves, I understand a down-under-the-fur predator truth. Men and cats are a natural match.

Ever watch animals when workmen are on the job either inside your house or in your yard? A dog will bark vapidly or present himself for a scratch. But keep an eye on your cat. He’ll monitor the operation, stalking every nut and bolt. He’ll stretch out a claw—thwack—for wayward strands of wire. He is a born mechanic.

In fact, if you talk to plumbers or electricians or tree surgeons, you’ll discover an interesting thing. They all have feline colonies at home. Five cats, sometimes. Even 10. My wife will go as far as to argue that it’s because these men are secure enough in the physical aspects of manhood that they don’t need to pretend. Why should a carpenter or roofer care to concoct an epic dislike for something small and fuzzy if they can out-arm-wrestle just about anyone in town?

My wife may be right. What, after all, does the chilly interspecies relationship between cats and men—at least most men—boil down to? Are we simply jealous of the cat’s brilliant skills at hunting? Or envious about its easy intimacy with our wives and girlfriends? More than likely, we’re put off—outraged, even—by a creature that does not pay proper respects to the animal kingdom’s two-legged rulers.

It’s long past time for at least a little mutual respect. Cats could give us a passing wave with a paw, and we could bend down and pat them—the way we would high-five a worthy foe at tennis.

Maybe cats and men could share a burger now and then. We could hang out back in the alley, near the trash cans. Talk fishing. Crack some snacks and beers.

A club of some kind might be an idea. A club for loungers. A club for prowlers. A club for tinkerers with tools.

A private club, it would have some unyielding rules:

No women. And no dogs allowed.

Mr. Mandel is an author of children’s books, including “Jackhammer Sam” (Macmillan, 2011) and “Zoo Ah-Choooo” (Holiday House, 2012).

A version of this article appeared August 26, 2013, on page A17 in the U.S. edition of The Wall Street Journal, with the headline: Cats Are Actually Man’s Best Friend.

About abyssum

I am a retired Roman Catholic Bishop, Bishop Emeritus of Corpus Christi, Texas
This entry was posted in HAPPINESS, MAN, POLITICAL CORRECTNESS, POPE BENEDICT XVI, SANCTITY. Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to MEOW!

  1. I can’t access your picture of your cat! but I love the one with Pope Benedict. We have 4 cats here at the house; they all belong to Teresa and her kids.
    I love your blog, Bishop Gracida..and also that you celebrate the traditional Mass…wish I could be there at your Mass. Tomorrow is my Michael’s birthday..perhaps you could remember him at Mass. God bless you, dear Father!

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