Written by Christian Simonsen
Photo: © Depositphotos.com/friday
I humbly welcome you to my literary blog. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Whiskers. I am what my Feeder (and others of her kind) parochially refers to as an “indoor cat”, while my Outdoor or Feral brethren would most likely call me a “House ______” (you may call me old-fashioned, but I avoid putting vulgar terms in print whenever possible).
The following is a partial list of my literary reviews of my Feeder’s book choices in 2016. As is the tradition of my brethren, I have attempted to communicate my critiques to my Feeder by placing my person in her lap directly on the open pages of a book when said pages hold a key passage that either sums up the author’s true perspective, or illustrates a point I personally feel my Feeder would benefit from. Alas, my intense, close-up scrutiny of her eyes with my own never seems to cause the emotional or intellectual breakthrough every Mentor yearns to see in their student. But perhaps I expect too much from her.
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
What’s that, you say? The dog-eared copy of Ms. Austen’s most famous novel has just been plucked off of the bookcase again? Why, it must be late February, not long after another all-too-quiet Valentine’s Day! Still, I must give my Feeder her due; given the choice between drowning her sorrows in vodka or a book, she will always choose the book. At least at first. “Oh, Mr. Whiskers!” my Feeder exclaimed as I sat down on the sweetly romantic and subtly erotic passage in Chapter 7, of Elizabeth Bennet’s awkward arrival at the Bingley’s house with flushed skin from her run through the woods, “I should have named you Mr. Darcy,” she mused as she stroked my fur, “since you are my perfect boyfriend.” Since you took me out of my natural environment and declawed and neutered me to suit your personal convenience, I don’t doubt for a moment that you are sincere.
Best Short Stories of Edgar Allan Poe by Edgar Allan Poe
This was read during my Feeder’s Wannabe Goth stage, when she donned her heavy makeup and all black attire and headed to the “Night Breed Metal & Industrial Dance Show” every Thursday night at Lucky O’Hara’s Lounge (dutifully brooding over the torments of mortality once a week between Happy Hour and Last Call pretty much sums up her species). Mr. Poe’s contributions to the evolution of the short story medium are undeniable. Nevertheless, I felt compelled to plop my fur down on the passage in The Black Cat that describes the violence and dismemberment suffered by the title character at the hands of the morally feeble narrator (a Feeder, of course). Really, Mr. Poe? Sensationalizing graphic violence against a feline (a black feline, no less!) and passing it off as some kind of metaphor for spiritual suffering? No thank you, Edgar… I’ll just sit through Hostel again when it pops up on cable. At least filmmaker Eli Roth restricts his artsy Torture Porn to Feeder-on-Feeder violence.
The Life of Pi by Yann Martel
I admit to having high hopes for this novel, due to its intriguing juxtaposition of a wild Bengal tiger in a sterile, modern world. But in truth, Mr. Martel’s tiger is the same old tired stereotype that could have walked right out of Kipling’s jungle. My Feeder’s astute observations made out loud for my benefit (“Look, Mr. Whiskers… the Indian boy and the big cat have to live together on a lifeboat!”) did little to alleviate my disappointment.
Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll
These two classics are equally enjoyed by both me and my Feeder. Mr. Carroll holds a special place in my heart for creating the Cheshire Cat. While some felines disagree, I for one feel he represents, through a looking-glass darkly, all of the positive aspects of our species (and if the ability to disappear is “crude escapism”, well then, sign me up!). Also of note is Dinah, a kitten whose Feeder is Alice. By the second book, Dinah has become an adult and a mother. Even my Feeder comprehended, on some level, the sad rarity of this natural depiction of my kind in literature. “Look, Mr. Whiskers! Dinah was a kitten in the first book, and now she has kittens of her own!” Why, thank you for explaining that basic life-cycle to me.
The Last of the Mohicans by James Fennimore Cooper
Ugh. Who reads this anymore? One would think Mark Twain’s biting critique of this “classic” back in the day would have sunk it into obscurity. My Feeder mumbled something about feeling guilty about the “A+” she received in high school on her book report, because she faked reading the actual book. My Dear, everyone fakes reading this book. We no longer need Mr. James Fennimore Cooper to employ “realism” or “complexity” to resell Manifest Destiny. We now have Mr. Cormac McCarthy to do that for us. If memory serves, this story contained no felines. It contained no believable Native Americans or white people, either.
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Speaking of Mr. McCarthy… What does a Feeder choose to read when she is denied both a second date from “a pretty decent guy” and a pay raise from her “mind-numbing job” in the same week? Why, a violent, post-apocalyptic novel by one of the most pretentious writers of our time, of course! It is quite impossible for me to care about the plight of a half-starved man and boy crawling across polluted wastelands after my Feeder warns me that we have to “tighten our belts and lay off the soft canned Fancy Feast and make do with the hard stuff for a while.” To make matters worse, my Feeder gets teary-eyed every time the protagonist does something brave and self-sacrificing for his son, which is about every three paragraphs. “He’s the perfect father!” she cried. I finally jumped off of her lap and pretended that I had an urgent appointment in the hallway. There is only so much comfort I’m willing to provide for a bowl of Meow Mix.
Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats by T.S. Eliot
Oh God, please no! This collection of poems has done more harm to felines than a rabid pack of pit-bulls ever could. There is nothing like a “loving” fictional tribute that legitimizes every horrid stereotype imaginable. Mungojerrie? Rumpelteazer? Honestly Mr. Eliot, you should have just put your pen down after Murder in the Cathedral.
Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote
Ah, Mr. Capote! Your claw-sharp prose and sympathetic yet unsentimental observations have created another winner (although of course all of your other books will remain in the shadow of In Cold Blood). Through the characters of Cat and Holly Golightly, this delectable book depicts the most honest and heartfelt depiction of a Feline-Feeder relationship in an urban environment ever committed to print. “Maybe I should have called you Cat also,” my Feeder mused as she shut the book and stroked my back. “Anyway, I’m glad I didn’t name you Mr. Darcy!” I locked eyes with her, and she burst out laughing. For once, genuine communication had been reached. Breakfast at Tiffany’s was a perfect, intimate read to share with my Feeder, especially during a celebratory week such as this one, when her skin was flushed with excitement, not unlike dear Elizabeth Bennet with the soaked and muddy stockings at the forest’s edge, knocking at an unfamiliar door. “This new job of mine is going to be the start of bigger and better things!” my Feeder exclaimed as she scratched behind my ears. As I lick a leftover fragment of Fancy Feast Sea Bass & Shrimp off of my fur, I must admit that I agree with her.
The End
***
Christian Simonsen is a writer based in San Francisco. He has had plays produced in cities across the United States, as well as in Seoul, Sydney and London. He is currently a sketch comedy writer for Killing My Lobster.