Posted in Occasional Observer

BTG’s sits down with Zachary Turpin @ The Book of Odds

Interview with Bradley Trevor Greive
Posted By: Zachary Turpin
Posted On: May 3, 2010

Book of Odds reporter Zachary Turpin recently sat down with Bradley Trevor Greive—author of Why Dogs Are Better than Cats—on a sunny beach on the Tasman Sea and discussed, over smoked salmon and vodka gimlets, what it is that makes canines so special to us.

OK, almost none of that happened. The interview was, in fact, conducted by email. Mr. Greive (who really does live in Tasmania) was still as thoughtful and forthcoming as one could hope for.

Have you always been a dog person?

Yes, I suppose I have always been a dog lover, but I can honestly say I like both cats and dogs. But whilst I can acknowledge that cats are fascinating animals I would no more have a cat as a pet than say, a sea otter, an emu, or a bat. Dogs and humans forged a unique and enduring friendship some 15,000 years ago—this curiously wonderful partnership has become synonymous with the advancement of civilization and the celebration of our finest virtues. Dogs have helped us explore our world, put food on our tables, care for our farms, protect our homes; rescued our loved ones, and stopped postal workers from becoming fat and complacent.

Dogs won the title of “Man’s Best Friend” over all living creatures, not just cats, and I defy anyone to question a dog’s loyalty, courage, affection, empathy, and unfettered butt-wagging sense of joy. When it comes to pets, nothing comes close to the love of a good dog.

What do dogs have that cats don’t?

The list is far too long to repeat here, but far greater intelligence and sociability for starters. There’s really no comparison: a dog is a true animal companion, whereas cats are, by and large, sociopathic, semi-vegetative fluff-balls.

Cats are cute, I’ll grant you that, but as pets they are basically plush toys with bad attitudes. There are some people who, for reasons of limited time, space, income, mobility, intelligence, and possibly self-respect, are better off choosing a cat—but I feel sorry for them. Compared to a dog, having a cat in your home is like listening to elevator music: vaguely irritating but perhaps better than nothing. Cats don’t even want to be pets—that’s why you have to lock them inside the house all of the time. Having a cat is like keeping it hostage and hoping that at some stage Stockholm Syndrome will kick in.

Cats are solitary predators and want to be out hunting—hunting and killing are always on their fiendish little minds and every game they play is a rehearsal for delicious murder. Whereas dogs truly share your home and see you as family, to a cat your home is either a prison or just a safe, warm cave where threats are low and food and water are plentiful.

Cats are like Hollywood socialites—they just want to be noticed and can survive indefinitely on air-kisses and the odd salmon canapé.

You tie the rising cat population to the collapse of civilization. Can you elaborate?

Look around you—cat population numbers are climbing faster than a singed gibbon. There are now more than 200 million more pet cats than dogs in the world today—20 million more pet cats than dogs just in the USA alone! Cats are breeding machines, much like rabbits, mice, and Marlon Brando: in just a few years, two healthy cats and their subsequent offspring can bring more than 500,000 sofa-scratchers into the world. It’s only a matter of time before the whole planet is smothered by cats and we find ourselves buried beneath a mewling funereal shroud.

In just the last 30 years cat numbers have doubled in the UK alone—now ask yourself, what has happened to humanity during that time: kids are getting fatter, divorce rates are sky-rocketing, hate crimes are on the rise, armed conflict is escalating all over the planet, and don’t even get me started on reality television.

Is there anything to be said for felines, or are they basically a wash?

Cats are undeniably attractive and soft to the touch, and as such they benefit greatly from what is known as “Supermodel Syndrome,” which is where we give beautiful creatures far too much credit. Nevertheless, being slim-hipped and aloof is no indication of intelligence, and if it were, Paris Hilton would be a certified genius. The truth is, there’s not a whole lot going on behind those glittering eyes—indeed the only domestic creature with greater claim to idiocy is a person who vehemently defends cat intelligence.

If the best and worst thing about dogs is that they love too much, and thus put themselves at risk of abuse—then conversely the best and worst thing about cats is that they just don’t care. This can obviously lead to pained levels of disappointment, especially if you acquire a cat and hope for the kind of active and intelligent engagement that you can only have with a dog.

However, in some instances, such as when a person has only enough time, space, and energy to engage with say, a goldfish, a sock puppet, or a Chia Pet, having a supremely ambivalent cat in their home is a big plus. Cats are quite low maintenance, mostly quiet, and relatively clean pets—perfect for soulless city living.

Do you think people are flexible in their love of cats or dogs—open to discussion, willing to change sides, to love both—or are they as one-sided and bitterly unbending in the dog/cat debate as they are about, say, politics or sports?

Hmmm, well, the gigantic sacks of poorly punctuated hate-mail and death threats I’ve received over the past 12 months tend to indicate a certain level of humorless fanaticism. But, considering that these threats come from sedentary types in oversized elastic-waisted pants, I’m not too worried. To some degree your pet choice represents a living extension of yourself, so it’s bound to get personal and, in some cases, highly irrational.

Tell me about writing Why Dogs Are Better than Cats.

It’s the funniest book I’ve ever written, and also the most beautiful—the photographs by Rachael Hale and the design by Gayna Murphy are simply dazzling and, to be blunt, I’m immodestly proud of it. I actually came up with the premise when I was in hospital having my knee and shoulder rebuilt for the umpteenth time—the title itself was enough to make me laugh out aloud and then off I went. I spent much of the next few months stuck in bed, which was the perfect opportunity to devour a library of information on cats and dogs, and after that the book basically wrote itself. Why Dogs Are Better than Cats is obviously tongue in cheek—but at its essence it has two serious goals:

First, to champion the many virtues unique to dogs that seem to be overlooked by most of us.

Second, to celebrate the differences between cats and dogs and thus, hopefully, save the lives of millions of cats. Last year alone some ten million dogs and cats ended up in American pet shelters. Half of these never found a new home and thus, after a fearful period of uncertainty, were put to sleep—the great majority were cats. In some places the euthanasia ratio for cats to dogs was as high as ten to one.

People need to choose a cat as a pet because they really love cats, in spite of or, better still, because of all the weird and wonderful things cats do. Cats and dogs may be equally wonderful creatures in the sight of God, but the notion of pet parity is a perverse falsehood pushed on us by pet food manufacturers and pet supply stores who don’t care what animal we have in our lives as long as we buy lots of stuff. A cat is not a cheaper, smaller, quieter, safer version of a dog—it is a supremely different and unique animal. Let knowledge and compassion define your pet choice, not fetid apathy.

What are the benefits of a shelter dog?

First of all, dog shelters are a great place to start your search for a new dog simply because there are always so many different dogs to look at—all ages, all sizes, and every possible breed combination. Plus, every shelter dog will have had a vet check and been washed, wormed and neutered—so that makes life easier too. Finally, and this is the bottom line: when you take home a dog from a shelter, you not only get a new best friend, you save a life.

You have 30 seconds to convey to alien abductors that dogs are better than cats, after which you may be vaporized, you human scum. What do you do?

Showing supreme sincerity and humility, I would get down on my knees and say, “Cats are by far the best thing this pathetic planet has to offer—please, I beg you, help yourself, take all you want, stuff as many cats into your space ship as you can, and then leave us in peace!”

If people want to learn more about you and your books, where should they go?

Well, you can simply go to my website, www.btgstudios.com. You can also follow me on Facebook and on Twitter Any more exposure to me than this would go against the Surgeon General’s recommendations.

For more from the Book of Odds click here

Posted in Occasional Observer

The Painted Dog Art Auction

The Painted Dog Charity Art Auction is on Friday the 23rd April, 2010 at the Memorial Hall Exhibition Centre in Hamilton Hill.

Come join art lovers and PDC members for a wonderful evening in this beautiful heritage building. There will be great music, and canapés and drinks served for the duration of the evening.

BTG has donated six original artworks (felt on canvas) and several signed copies of his latest book. All monies raised will go to support the vital painted dog conservation work in Zimbabwe, Zambia and Namibia.

Tickets are limited, so call Angela on 08 9455 6073, or email: lemonj@ozemail.com.au today to ensure your seat.

For media details call PDC Chairman, John Lemon, on 0418 934 975

To hear more about this wonderful cause you can tune in to 6PR 882 News Talk at 9:05pm (WST) on Monday the 19th of April to hear BTG chatting with Graham Mabury about this and other really interesting stuff.

http://www.6pr.com.au/shows/nightline

Posted in Occasional Observer

Bradley Trevor Greive now on Twitter!

Have you ever wanted to try Twitter but couldn’t find anything of value or interest amidst the B-List bleatings of the sour and talentless ‘Look At Me’ generation?

Have you ever found yourself at a loss for words when things have gone horribly wrong, or been left speechless when an outcome has exceeded your wildest expectations?

Don’t let these pivotal encounters leave you looking slack-jawed and stupid – Don’t dredge up a decent retort or winning compliment 20 minutes after the moment has passed – New York Times Best-Selling Author, Bradley Trevor Greive (BTG), has exactly what you need!

BTG proudly presents his new range of free Twitter Curses and Twitter Blessings, a growing library of potent and pithy utterances with which you can smite your enemies and heap praise upon the worthy.

http://twitter.com/BradleyTGreive

• Unable to articulate your wrath? Then feel free to dish out BTG’s devastating Twitter Curses, including such classics as:

Twitter Curse #38:
May people pretend to like you in order to spend time with your pets.
Twitter Curse #11
May all the dairy items in your fridge be of questionable vintage.
Twitter Curse #35:
May your name feature prominently in public restroom graffiti.
Twitter Curse #10:
May you trip over a guide dog.
Twitter Curse #24:
May your pubic hair grow at an alarming rate.
Twitter Curse #21:
May your sexuality become a popular topic of workplace conversation.
Twitter Curses #1:
May your inquisitive orthodontist have the morning breath of a thousand apes.
Twitter Curse #25:
May dolphins spit upon your sandals.

• So overwhelmed with joy and gratitude that you are left tongue-tied? Then dip into BTG’s treasure trove of Twitter Blessings, including such gems as:

Twitter Blessing #5:
May your excuses for avoiding tedious social engagements always sound credible.
Twitter Blessing #15:
May your love-handles be easily concealed.
Twitter Blessing #11:
May you receive an uninhibited sponge-bath.
Twitter Blessing #6:
May you appear slightly more attractive in photographs than in real life.
Twitter Blessing #3:
May your foul elevator odours always be attributed to other people.
Twitter Blessing #7:
May you find forgotten chocolate in your fridge during a difficult time.
Twitter Blessing #4:
May your new business cards give a false impression of success.
Twitter Blessing #2:
May your neighbour’s rooster have a sore throat.
Twitter Blessing #12:
May you woo your lover at a picnic by winning the trust of wild animals.

To sign up for  BTG’s Twitter Blessings and Twitter Curses join me on Twitter here

It’s easy and it’s free!

"Tweet Softly & Carry a Big Stick"

..

Posted in Occasional Observer

Farewell Mooshir

Since 2004 I have donated 10% of all my Russia book royalties to sponsor the Kamchatkan Brown Bears at Moscow Zoo and the in-situ conservation of these great bears in the wild.

A couple of days ago Mooshir, the 28 year old male, passed away peacefully (28 is extremely old for a big bear). Mooshir will be missed by all who knew him, especially his 18 year old best friend, Rosa.

Rest in peace, big fella.

Mooshir was huge – a truly big bear. Polar bears might be taller, but Kamchatkan Brown Bears, like their Kodiak Cousins, are the true heavyweight heart-throbs of the bear world.
Mooshir was also smart and loved to wave to the crowds, and splash around his swimming pool during warmer weather. Not surprisingly he was a big favourite at Moscow zoo with both staff and visitors alike.

Happier days.
Mooshir (on the right), laying a big wet, furry, smooch on his sexy girlfriend, Rosa

Good bye, Mooshir.
Good bye, Great Bear of the East.
We will miss you!

Posted in Occasional Observer

Month of the Military Child

In the USA, April has been declared the Month of the Military Child. As an author and ex-soldier with strong and enduring connections to the armed forces in Australia, New Zealand, the UK, and the USA, I am deeply honoured that The Blue Day Book for Kids: A Lesson in Cheering Yourself Up has been included on the official Military Children Book List.

BTG

April is the Month of the Military Child.

This special celebration is the legacy of former Defense Secretary Caspar Weinberger established to underscore the important role children play in the Armed Forces community.

According to the Military Child Education Coalition nearly 2 million children across the world are connected to the U.S. military. Military children are a special breed. They’re faced with circumstances that civilian kids may never face. Despite their challenges, experts say that military children are well rounded, culturally aware and tolerant, and extremely resilient.

This month take some time out to share something special with your military child. Check out
http://www.monthofthemilitarychild.com for arts and crafts, lesson plans, and activities that will be fun for the whole family. Download my Military Children Book List and go for a trip to the library. Here are a few of my favorites:

Our 50 States: A Family Adventure Across America
by Lynne Cheney
Night Catch
by Brenda Ehrmantraut
The Kissing Hand
by Audrey Penn
I’m Red, White, & Blue, Are You Feeling it Too?
by Deanna Lynn Cole
We Serve Too!
by Kathleen Edick and Paula Johnson
The Hero in My Pocket
by Marlene Lee
The Blue Day Book for Kids: A Lesson in Cheering Yourself Up
by Bradley Trevor Greive
Dear Soldier: Heartfelt Letters from America’s Children
by Barbara W. Baldwin, Amber Baldwin D’Amico, Heather Baldwin Duff
The Five Love Languages of Children
by Gary Chapman, Ross Campbell

For more wonderful ideas on how to celebrate this month in your local community or at an installation check out the tons of resources available online for military families:

* Army’s 2010 Celebration of the Military Child
* Operation Military Kids
* Military Youth on the Move
* Our Military Kids
* Deployment Kids
* Operation Purple Camps
* Zero to Three
* Talk, Listen, Connect (TLC) DVD from Sesame Street
* Flat Daddy (make your own – too cool!)
* Operation Hug A Hero
* Operation Give A Hug

Don’t forget that there are resources all around you when you’re in need of a hand.

Contact your installation’s Army Community Service (other services have similar resources) and check out their Family Advocacy Programs that include EFMP (Exceptional Family Member Program), New Parent Support, and Parenting classes galore.

(c) 2010 Military Advantage

Posted in Occasional Observer

A Short History of Music

One of the frustrating things about being a creative person is that much of what you create never ever sees the light of day. However thanks to the the internet we are now able to showcase of lot of great projects that, for whatever reason, were passed over, didn’t get finished or simply never quite made it into general circulation. To that end, here’s something rather lovely we just dug out of the dusty BTG STUDIOS vault. It’s so ancient that the pop reference is ‘Vogue’, Madonna’s dance-floor smash from 1990 (who feels old now?!).

I originally created the short illustrated booklet, A Short History of Music, and wrote the track, Following Clouds, to be included in a special music compilation to be called, Blue Grooves. The premise for Blue Grooves was that, through music, we would try to replicate the same entertaining emotional transition as The Blue Day Book. By which I mean, I hoped to select a variety of songs that, when carefully arranged in the right order on the finished CD, would take the listener on an uplifting journey, starting at their lowest point, moving through a pleasant melancholy state and finishing with a sense of hope and joy in your heart. Plus, frankly, I just really loved the idea of creating my ultimate mix-tape. Call me selfish.

The original seed for this idea came to me when I was listening to a prearranged list of songs on my iPod whilst taking a walk by the beach to clear my head (I call this track list ‘Big Bear’s Bumble Mix’). I often do this when I’m tired, sad or stressed out and it really works for me – so I thought, ‘well, if I like doing this, then perhaps other people might like it too’.

In the end there was a genuine offer from a major record label but, somehow, over about a year or two of circular discussions, it all just faded into nothing. I cant even remember what the sticking point was now, though I do recall that during our negotiations the record label was taken over by an even bigger company, and then suddenly all the top people I was talking to were fired. Such is the nature of the cutthroat music business, apparently.

By this stage my plans were well under way – the images were purchased and booklet was finished, I had written and produced two original songs with my good friend Mark Rivett (from SongZu), and I had even produced a great little animated music video for one of the tracks (Shine On Me – also known as the Sunny Bear Music Video – here’s the link in if you want to watch it on Youtube: Sunny Bear

Following Clouds is a really beautiful song, and the longer, full acoustic version is my absolute favourite. I wrote this track to appear in the middle of the Blue Grooves album, it’s a song about sadness but also about hope and self belief. The gentle poetry of the lyrics is something I’m very proud of – the words still bring tears to my eyes every time I listen to them. However the lyrics themselves would have no power but for Mark’s addictive melody and great arrangement, Peter Northcote’s superb guitar work (he played both the rhythm and the lead guitar parts in two separate takes), and Sarah McGregor’s amazing voice.

Speaking of Sarah: When I asked for some new Australian vocalists, Mark sent me a demo tape of Sarah humming – not even singing – and right then I knew I needed to write a song for her. I listened to her demo tape over and over, and then started to put words on paper. This is the result.

I hope you enjoy listening to Following Clouds, a beautiful and haunting song that is very dear to me but, until now, has never been heard by anyone outside of my BTG Studios team.

BTG

Click here to Launch Following Clouds

Buy your copy of The Blue Day Book 10th Anniversary Edition here

Posted in Occasional Observer

‘Big Bear’ loses his beard at the 2010 World’s Greatest Shave

On the weekend, with help from the Lord Mayor of Hobart I shaved off my beloved, trademark ‘Big Bear’ beard at the Early Childhood Expo in Hobart, Tasmania, to raise money for The Leukaemia Foundation.

A moment of eerie calm descends upon us before my sentence is publicly announced. I contemplate the Zen-like state of pure beardlessness, while the Tasmanian Premier communicates telepathically with a green balloon.

The Big Bear is introduced to the crowd

As a condemned man, I am entitled to say a few, final words. I may have also sung a Sinatra medley. I really can’t remember. it’s all a blur

Even as I take my appointed seat I earnestly try to convince the organisers that there has been a terrible mistake

The Lord Mayor of Hobart grabs hold of my ear to prevent escape, and then slowly raises up the hungry shears

the horror, the horror, THE HORROR!

Glittering mechanical teeth meet BTG face-fur. The man-fleece starts to peel away from my tender chin

The first cut is the deepest…

I become slightly hysterical as my beard drops into my lap and around my feet, and all I am left with is a 19th century Turkish cavalry moustache

The moustache is not spared the eager blade either as the Lord Mayor swiftly closes in on my quivering septum

Final, surgical strokes and the deed is done.  The beloved ‘Big Bear’ Beard is no more.

Waking up the morning after and struggling to come to terms with new sensations as curious fingers caress the freshly denuded landscape of my face

Smiling through the tears. I’m feeling like a beardless freak, but am also reveling in the fact that thousands of dollars have been raised for The Leukemia Foundation

Wait, what’s this?!  An emergency WGS Beanie with a false beard to warm my moosh and hide my shame!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, bliss! I feel whole again……

(Even my dog, Chieftain, is drawn to the magnetic properties of a full beard, fake or otherwise)

No, I will not hide behind a synthetic fur mask – this is the fresh-faced Bear.

This is … The New Me!

By the way: It’s not too late to make a donation to the Leukaemia Foundation. Just follow this link and then click on the green ‘Sponsor Me’ button:
http://my.imisfriendraising.com.au/personalPage.aspx?registrationID=320845&LangPref=en-CA

Every dollar makes a real difference to the lives of sick kids, so be generous!

Posted in Occasional Observer

Quentin Bloxam Retires

What follows in my personal tribute to Quentin Bloxam, a dear friend and Gerald Durrell apprentice, who who finally retired yesterday after dedicating many decades of noble service to saving endangered wildlife from extinction.

Though by no means a saint, he may yet be destined for celestial glory as he was and remains one of the most enjoyable and inspiring people to cross my path. The planet’s natural wonders are safer for his tireless devotion, though now that he is retired I dare say the world’s supply of fine wine is in genuine peril. Cheers, Q!

“Having had the good fortune, due to no great ability on my own account, to be published in one hundred and fifteen countries I am constantly both delighted and appalled to find that everywhere I go the name Quentin Bloxam goes before me eliciting the most curious reactions: Women clutch their ovaries and sigh, furious Cossacks draw swords, police officers frantically load pistols, monks scramble to bolt their cellar doors and startled altar boys leap back and cross their ecclesiastical vestments twice, and twice again.

Even before he attempted to steal silverware from Buckingham Palace, Q was far too much of a scoundrel to be considered for a knighthood, though perhaps not quite caddish enough to join the peerage. Mores the shame. Not since Francis Drake has Britannia had such a magnificent brigand in her service. And such dark times as these call for brigands.

For many decades Q’s passionate exertions have brought great acclaim. In defence of wildlife and wild places Quentin has swum oceans, traversed deserts and stormed jungles, bars and cloistered nunneries without flinching. He is, standing here before us, as renowned a champion of Durrell’s living legacy as any that has ever or will ever walk the face of this green earth.

For all his primate savvy and feminine acuity, Quentin Bloxam is a man’s man. Silver tongued, quick with his fists and always thirsty. It’s no secret that, in the event of his untimely demise, donating Quentin’s liver would qualify as a malicious act. Were it not for the fact that every summer he foolishly believes England can win The Ashes he has all the makings of an Australian Prime Minister.

It’s hard to imagine a more capable and engaging fellow. Though often happily bemused, he never seems ruffled or out of sorts and thus is a boon when great tasks are at hand. Rough and ready, coifed, rakish and eagerly committed to the kind of devilish roguery that vestal virgins find so offensively charming, Q is a formidable ally when he chooses to use his powers for good.

In 2003, when we joined forces for the Australasian promotional tour of Priceless; The Vanishing Beauty of a Fragile Planet, a book dedicated to the memory of The Trust’s charismatic namesake, Q proved invaluable when it came to building bridges between disparate wildlife groups and uniting rival zoos. His potent allure was shameless and I soon came to accept that the excited crowds awaiting our public presentations had no interest whatsoever in my existence. Indeed it’s fair to say no other European entity has so overwhelmed natives of the Pacific since smallpox. Our public obligations presented a relentlessly gruelling schedule, however Q remained energetic and light-hearted throughout, indeed the only time I ever heard him complain was to the effect that he was being stalked by a nymphomaniacal posse of Czech supermodels.

Needless to say, Quentin’s robust and amenable veneer masks a great vault of hard-won knowledge. He is an insatiable student of life and a venerable teacher. Whether he be knee deep in iguana guano or molesting a member of the royal family, Quentin is always a gentleman.
He is also a creature of tremendous appetites, tireless good humour and astonishing inventiveness, yet curiously old-fashioned enough to value timeless traditions and thus is only very rarely found unconscious in public. One wonders how he will adapt once released into the wilds of retirement. Is the civilized world ready for a Quentin Bloxam with time on his hands? I think not.

Of course I could go on and on about Q’s many amusing mishaps, diplomatic disasters and life threatening faux pas. I really could. Such as the time he almost expired after becoming lost on a well watered island no bigger than a football field, and then there was the night strange sirens were knocking on every hotel door in Melbourne hoping to discover his whereabouts, and who can forget the countless acts of drunken indecency at sites which, as a result, have subsequently been consecrated to both Dionysus and Priapus. But I will abstain from such unsavoury jousting, for as soon as Quentin Bloxam walks out the door, and for the rest of our lives, we swinish braggarts will crow that we knew this man and so, instead of crowning his platinum pate with shameful japery, I propose a more solemn toast -

I raise my glass to the man behind whose hairy chest beats an enormous British heart still largely free of tropical endomyocardial fibrosis.
A bona fide original and a great inspiration, whose intoxicating joie de vivre and profound compassion for God’s forgotten creatures marks him out as one of Gerald Durrell’s true heirs. My dear friend, Quentin Bloxam.”

February 11th, 2010

Scoundrels united! Quentin ‘Q’ Bloxam and BTG in the midst of the 2003 Australasian Book Tour for PRICELESS: The Vanishing Beauty of a Fragile Planet.

Posted in Occasional Observer

Scientists Prove Dogs Are Better Than Cats

For those cynics amongst you who dare to doubt my clinical objectivity, here are the results of an independent study published in New Scientist Magazine. Cat fanciers prepare to choke on your fur-balls…

THE world is divided into “dog people” and “cat people”, each passionately believing that their preferred pet is superior. Until a decade ago, there was very little scientific evidence either camp could muster to support its claims. Then animal behaviourists became interested in dogs and unleashed a pack of ingenious experiments testing canine capabilities and cognition. Recently, researchers have started doing similar work with cats. Could it be time for that showdown?There are obvious pitfalls in trying to use science to resolve this perennial dispute. Every pet-owner knows their furry family member is special – a unique being with its own talents and foibles. Yet scientific research tends to look at species as a whole and deals in averages and trends when attempting to quantify their characteristics. Then there is the thorny issue of comparing two very different animals. Some might argue that the whole venture is doomed to failure, but here at New Scientist we like a challenge. So we have pitted cats against dogs in 11 categories. It’s a winner-take-all competition with “best in show” being awarded to the pet that prevails in the most categories. Let the fur fly…

1. BRAINS

At 64 grams, the average dog brain is far bigger than its feline equivalent, which weighs in at a mere 25 grams. But then the average dog is much heavier than the average cat. If instead you measure brain mass as a percentage of body mass, cats win by a whisker.

Felophiles should not gloat yet. In general, smaller mammals have slightly larger brains relative to their body size than bigger ones. This means cats’ brains are exactly the mass you would expect for their size, whereas dogs have slightly more upstairs than you would predict.

On size alone, then, the results are ambiguous. That is perhaps all to the good, because brain size is not a reliable measureof intelligence. In fact, if you want to assess smarts you are far better looking at behaviour than crude neuroanatomy – more on that later. However, there is one anatomical measure that gives a pretty good indication of information processing capacity: the number of neurons in the cortex, or executive brain. Here cats trounce dogs, with 300 million neurons compared with a piddling 160 million (Trends in Cognitive Science, vol 9, p 250).

WINNER: CATS
RUNNING SCORE: CATS 1 – 0 DOGS

2. SHARED HISTORY

Several research teams have compared DNA from dogs with that of grey wolves, their closest living ancestor, to try to pinpoint the date of domestication.

In the first study of this kind in 1997, Robert Wayne’s team at the University of California, Los Angeles, came up with a date of 135,000 years ago. Since then, the entire dog genome has been sequenced and Wayne now believes his date may be a little premature. Nevertheless, given the discovery of archaeological remains of dogs dating from 31,000 years ago and the large divergence between dog and wolf DNA, he still suspects that domestication occurred at least 50,000 years ago.

Other DNA studies, however, suggest domestication could be more recent. The latest analysis, published in September by Peter Savolainen at the Royal Institute of Technology in Stockholm, Sweden, comes in at 16,000 years. It also points to an origin south of the Yangtze river in China and speculates that the first dogs were not working dogs, but destined for the dinner table (Molecular Biology and Evolution, vol 26, p 2849).

Our knowledge of feline domestication is also fuzzy. Evidence from ancient Egyptian burials and hieroglyphs indicates that cats were popular in homes from about 3000 BC onwards. However, the synergy with humans probably stretches further back. As soon as our ancestors began farming, their grain stores would have become magnets for vermin, and therefore cats. In 2007, comparisons of the DNA of wildcats from across the globe with that of domestic cats confirmed their origins in the Fertile Crescent east of the Mediterranean, the cradle of agriculture (Science, vol 317, p 519). What’s more, cats seem to have wormed their way into our homes and hearts from an early stage, as evidenced by a 9500-year-old burial of a kitten alongside a human on Cyprus. While impressive, it still leaves Felix looking like a newcomer compared with Fido.

WINNER: DOGS
SCORE: CATS 1 – 1 DOGS

3. BONDING

The bond between a dog and its owner is remarkably similar to that between a parent and child. A secure baby behaves in a characteristic way in strange situations: it is courageous and happy to explore while its mother is around, becomes distressed when she leaves, will settle with a stranger in time, but has eyes only for mum when she returns.

Dogs put through the “strange situation” test respond in the same way. That is probably no surprise to dog people, who often cite unconditional love as their pet’s more endearing quality. Are cats so very different?

Adam Miklosi from Eotvos Lorand University in Budapest, Hungary, whose group did the work with dogs, tried this experiment with cats – but they were having none of it. The lab setting was very upsetting and stressful for them, presumably because cats tend not to leave their territory. Nevertheless, Miklosi suspects that cats bond with their owners in much the same way that dogs do – if only he could persuade them to take the test.

Even the most besotted owner will admit that cats like their independence. Evolution is to blame. By nature, cats are loners. Dogs, meanwhile, are descended from pack animals and have an instinct to affiliate, and domestication has changed the focus of this instinct. Give a 4-month-old puppy the choice and it will choose a human companion over a dog. It seems they just can’t help but love us.

WINNER: DOGS
SCORE: CATS 1 – 2 DOGS

4. POPULARITY

Arguably the ultimate test of whether an animal makes a good pet is how many people actually own them. Here cats are clear winners. Although worldwide figures are hard to come by, recent studies show that in the top 10 cat-owning countries there are almost 204 million felines. Pet pooches in the top 10 dog-owning countries number fewer than 173 million.

WINNER: CATS
SCORE: CATS 2 – 2 DOGS

5. UNDERSTANDING

Rico the border collie is famously able to understand over 200 words (Science, vol 304, p 1682). He’s a clever boy, but even dogs with more limited comprehension can often recognise and respond to dozens of commands and requests for objects. And words are not the only channel of communication open to them.

Pooches can follow human pointing gestures, such as an outstretched finger or a nod of the head, to find food. That may not seem impressive, but chimps struggle to do it. Dogs also hold eye contact with humans – which wolves tend not to do – and use gaze alternation to bring objects to their owner’s attention. They seem predisposed to inspect our faces for information, reassurance and guidance, according to Alexandra Horowitz who studies animal cognition at Columbia University in New York, and whose book Inside of a Dog was published in September.

However, Horowitz provides a cautionary tale for anyone tempted to overestimate their dog’s level of comprehension. Her experiments revealed that a pooch’s characteristic “guilty look” does not in fact signify an understanding of transgression, but is often simply produced in response to a scolding, regardless of whether or not it has been disobedient (Behavioural Processes, vol 81, p 447).

Cognitively speaking, cats are similar to dogs, says Miklosi, so you would expect them to have similar patterns of behaviour and abilities. A big difference is that they are not compliant or motivated, making them devilishly hard to work with. Nevertheless, Miklosi’s team found that Felix is just as capable as Fido when it comes to following pointing gestures to find food. However, if the food is hidden and impossible to retrieve, dogs are far more likely to solicit help from their owners by gaze alternation, whereas cats mostly try in vain to obtain the reward for themselves (Journal of Comparative Psychology, vol 119, p 179). Understanding that humans can get you what you want may seem like cheating, but add to this the dog’s superior vocabulary and eagerness to engage with its owner and it is only fair they win this one.

WINNER: DOGS
SCORE: CATS 2 – 3 DOGS

6. PROBLEM SOLVING

“Cats don’t understand string theory” ran the headlines earlier this year after an experiment showed that if you offer kitty a choice between two pieces of string, one with a morsel of food at the end, they often fail to pull on the string attached to the reward (Animal Cognition, vol 12, p 739). Before canine-lovers crow… dogs do not pass the test either.

What’s more, neither pet can use figurative cues to find hidden food. In other words, they don’t understand X marks the spot. On the positive side, both are pretty good at retrieving bits of food from stashes placed at various distances from each other and from themselves. Although they employ slightly different strategies, their choices about the order in which they visit sites is efficient and logical (Behavioural Processes, vol 73, p 22).

Not much else is known of cats’ problem-solving capabilities. Dogs have been subjected to far more testing, and have often failed to shine. In fact, there is a long-standing view that dogs are dunces compared with their wolf cousins, whose brains are a third bigger. One classic study showed that wolves learned to open a door with a complicated catch simply by watching another wolf do it, whereas dogs failed to master the catch even after years of seeing the door opened and closed.

But Miklosi, along with Jozsef Topal of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences in Budapest, suspected that a dog’s partnership with its owner might be making it appear more stupid than it really is. The more intimate the bond, they reasoned, the more likely a dog is to relinquish its powers of independent thought and action to its owner.

Their suspicions were confirmed when they tested a variety of dogs on a task in which they had to pull on the handles of a plastic dish protruding from underneath a wire fence to retrieve some food. The most highly bonded dogs performed worst – but their success rate improved as soon as their owners encouraged them. The researchers conclude that dogs are not poor problem solvers, per se, but tend to favour a collaborative approach.

The full genius of this strategy is only revealed when you consider seeing-eye dogs. In their collaborations with blind owners, they often take the usual canine role of junior partner, but when the need arises they step in to solve problems their human cannot master. Chalk one more up to the small-brained wolf.

WINNER: DOGS
SCORE: CATS 2 – 4 DOGS

7. VOCALISATION

Shared ancestry means that all mammals tend to produce the same kinds of vocalisations to convey certain meanings. For example, they make sudden sounds with rising or rapidly fluctuating pitch to attract attention or demonstrate arousal, motivation or readiness. Both cats and dogs play on this mammalian mutual understanding in their vocal interactions with humans. Analysis of cat miaows reveals that they contain acoustic patterns that grab our attention. But the vocal repertoire of cats is quite limited and their calls tend to be idiosyncratic, so they are often interpretable only by their owners.

Dogs have far more vocal flexibility. They can vary the length, range, pitch, frequency modulation and tonality of their barks and they use this ability to produce characteristic barks in different situations. Even someone who has never owned a dog can make a good stab at telling, simply from its barks, whether it is lonely, aggressive or happy. Miklosi’s group, who made this discovery, point out that other adult canids, including wolves, rarely bark. He suggests that during the course of domestication dogs may have evolved their elaborate vocal repertoire especially to communicate with us (New Scientist, 12 June 2004, p 52).

That’s clever, but complexity is not everything. After all, no matter how much you love your pet, the barking or miaowing can get on your nerves. It looks as though cats may have found a way around this, though. A study published earlier this year reveals the subtlety with which they can use their crooning to ensnare us. By embedding an urgent high-frequency miaow into a blissed-out purr, they produce a sound that brings out our nurturing side. Karen McComb from the University of Sussex in Falmer, UK, who analysed these “solicitation purrs”, suggests they work on a subliminal level in much the same way as a baby’s cry, which has a similar frequency range (Current Biology, vol 19, p R507). For their guile, cats get the cream.

WINNER: CATS
SCORE: CATS 3 – 4 DOGS

8. TRACTABILITY

Dogs are easy to train because we have selected them to be so. They have evolved to fit into our homes and meet our needs, and they find it easy to learn and obey our rules. They are especially skilled at cognitive tasks that require cooperation and sharing information to achieve a goal.

While other animals such as chimps and dolphins learn by emulation – watching another individual carry out a task and then trying to achieve the same result – dogs learn in the same way as human infants. This process, called pedagogy, entails implicit teaching, with the dog attending to cues such as eye contact, gesture and vocalisation, and then directly imitating the actions of its master (New Scientist, 23 August 2008, p 33).

The most basic way to train a dog involves reinforcing the behaviours we want to encourage by giving Fido a titbit of food. Cats can be taught using rewards too. “They respond to stimulus and reinforcement,” says Miklosi. But since no one has really tried training cats, we do not know the full extent of their abilities. Although there may be fewer ways to do it, they can probably achieve similar ends to dogs, Miklosi believes. “But dogs really want to do it. They are more interested and take it more seriously.”

Besides, even without explicit instructions dogs naturally pick up the rules of domestic behaviour. This happens through play, according to renowned animal behaviourist Marc Bekoff of the University of Colorado, Boulder. He argues that the function of rough-and-tumble play is to develop a rudimentary sense of morality, and that such interactions with their owners allow dogs to test the limits of what is acceptable in a domestic setting. Dogs win paws down.

WINNER: DOGS
SCORE: CATS 3 – 5 DOGS

9. SUPERSENSES

Smell, sight and hearing are the most important senses for both cats and dogs. Having created endless breeds of dog to capitalise on their various perceptual talents, we should expect them to outperform the less highly selected cat – and they do show some quite amazing abilities. A bloodhound’s nose, for example, contains 300 million smell receptor sites compared with just 5 million in humans. Its sense of smell is up to 100 million times more sensitive than yours.

However, while a dog’s keen nose is legendary, cats are no mean sniffers either. In fact, because there is so much variability among breeds of dog, the average cat, with its 200 million smell receptors, actually has a more acute nose than the average dog.

Neither Felix nor Fido can match us when it comes to visual acuity, but their ancestry as nocturnal hunters has left them with some impressive visual abilities. Both have a faster “flicker-fusion rate” than we do, meaning the cells in their retinas take more snapshots of the world per second than ours, giving them superior sensitivity to movement. The main reason for this is that their eyes contain many more rod cells than cones, which also explains their poor colour vision. On the up side, rods are particularly good for seeing in low light. Here, once again, cats have the upper hand. Felix can see in light levels six times as low as we can, while Fido’s limit is thought to be about five times ours.

Add hearing to the list, and cats score a hat trick. Their auditory range extends from 45 to 64,000 hertz, far wider than that of dogs at between 67 and 45,000 hertz.

WINNER: CATS
SCORE: CATS 4 – 5 DOGS

10. ECO-FRIENDLINESS

Cats love wildlife – in the UK alone they kill more than 188 million wild animals each year. But dogs are no bunny huggers. They have been implicated in the decline of the rare European nightjar, they disturb ground-nesting birds and, even when walked on a lead, their mere presence may reduce biodiversity (Biology Letters, vol 3, p 611).

The real difference in ecological impact comes in consumption. A medium-size dog’s ecological footprint – the area of land required to keep it fed – is 0.84 hectares annually. You could run two SUVs on that and still have change. Even a toy dog such as a chihuahua has a footprint of 0.28 hectares per year. Meanwhile, your average cat’s ecological pawprint, at just 0.15 hectares, looks positively virtuous (New Scientist, 24 October, p 46).

WINNER: CATS
SCORE: CATS 5 – 5 DOGS

11. UTILITY

Dogs can hunt, herd and guard. They can sniff out drugs and bombs and even whale faeces; they guide blind and deaf people, race for sport, pull sleds, find someone buried by an avalanche, help children learn and possibly even predict earthquakes. Cats are good if you have an infestation of rodents.

Perhaps that assessment is unfair, though. After all, we love our pets for other reasons. Cats are beautiful and soft, and stroking them has been shown to reduce stress. Then again, dogs are also good stress-busters: owning one can lower your blood pressure and cholesterol levels. What’s more, Fido has other health benefits. Daily dog walks may be a chore, but they repay the effort, not just in terms of regular exercise, but also by providing immune-boosting opportunities for social contact with other dog walkers. That’s why in a head-to-head contest of health benefits, it’s dogs all the way (British Journal of Health Psychology, vol 12, p 145).

WINNER: DOGS
SCORE: CATS 5 – 6 DOGS

So, at the risk of putting the cat among the pigeons, dogs come out on top.

By Kate Douglas,  feature editor at New Scientist

Posted in Occasional Observer

Cat Rescued from a Garbage Disposal Unit

My thanks to my wonderfully kooky friend Kate Luckel who sent me this very amusing true story. What could have been a horrific disaster had a very happy, if unexpected ending (martinis were involved). I’ve always said that cats, unlike dogs, never rescue anybody, they just get rescued – here is a particularly bizarre example that just gets funnier and weirder as the tale unfurls.

This is the story of the night my ten-year-old cat, Rudy, got his head stuck in the garbage disposal. I knew at the time that the experience would be funny if the cat survived, so let me tell you right up front that he’s fine.

Getting him out wasn’t easy, though, and the process included numerous home remedies, a plumber, two cops, an emergency overnight veterinary clinic, a case of mistaken identity, five hours of panic, and fifteen minutes of fame.

My husband Rich and I had just returned from a 5 day vacation in the Cayman Islands–where I had been sick as a dog the whole time. We arrived home at 9 p.m., a day and a half later than we had planned because of airline problems. I still had illness-related vertigo, and because of the flight delays, had not been able to prepare for the class I was supposed to teach at 8:40 the next morning.

I sat down at my desk to think about William Carlos Williams, and around ten o’clock I heard Rich hollering from the kitchen.

I raced over to see what was wrong and spied Rich frantically rooting around under the kitchen sink and Rudy–or, rather, Rudy’s headless body–scrambling around in the sink, his claws clicking in panic on the metal and his head stuck in the garbage disposal. Rich had just ground up the skin of some smoked salmon in the disposal, and when he left the room, Rudy (who always was a pinhead) had gone in after it.

It is very disturbing to see the headless body of your cat in the sink. This is an animal that I have slept with nightly for ten years, who burrows under the covers and purrs against my side, and who now looked like a fur-covered turkey carcass, defrosting in the sink while it’s still alive and kicking. It was also disturbing to see Rich, Mr. Calm-in-any-Emergency, at his wit’s end, trying to simultaneously soothe Rudy and undo the garbage disposal, and failing at both, and basically freaking out.

Adding to the chaos was Rudy’s twin brother Lowell, also upset, racing around in circles, jumping onto the kitchen counter and alternately licking Rudy’s butt for comfort and biting it out of fear. Clearly, I had to do something.

First we tried to ease Rudy out of the disposal by lubricating his head and neck with Johnson’s baby shampoo (kept on hand for my nieces’ visits) and butter-flavored Crisco. Both failed, and a now-greasy Rudy kept struggling. Rich then decided to take apart the garbage disposal, which was a good idea, but he couldn’t do it. Turns out, the thing is constructed like a metal onion: you peel off one layer and another one appears, with Rudy’s head still buried deep inside, stuck in a hard plastic collar.

My job during this process was to sit on the kitchen counter petting Rudy, trying to calm him, with the room spinning (vertigo), Lowell howling (he’s part Siamese), and Rich clattering around under the sink with his tools.

When all our efforts failed, we sought professional help. I called our regular plumber, who actually called me back quickly, even at 11 o’clock at night (thanks, Dave). He talked Rich through further layers of disposal dismantling, but still we couldn’t reach Rudy.

I called the 1-800 number for Insinkerator (no response), a pest removal service that advertises 24-hour service (no response), an all-night emergency veterinary clinic (who had no experience in this matter), and finally, in desperation, 9-1-1. I could see that Rudy’s normally pink paw pads were turning blue. The fire department, I figured, gets cats out of trees; maybe they could get one out of a garbage disposal.

The dispatcher had other ideas and offered to send over two policemen. The cops arrived close to midnight and turned out to be quite nice. More importantly, they were also able to think rationally, which we were not. They were, of course, astonished by the situation. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Officer Mike kept saying. (The unusual circumstances helped us get quickly on a first- name basis with our cops.) Officer Tom, who expressed immediate sympathy for our plight (“I’ve had cats all my life,” he said), also had an idea. Evidently we needed a certain tool, a tiny, circular rotating saw, that could cut through the heavy plastic flange encircling Rudy’s neck without hurting Rudy. Officer Tom happened to own one. “I live just five minutes from here,” he said. “I’ll go get it.” He soon returned, and the three of them–Rich and the two policemen–got under the sink together to cut through the garbage disposal. I sat on the counter, holding Rudy and trying not to succumb to the surreal-ness of the scene, with the weird middle-of-the-night lighting, the room’s occasional spinning, Lowell’s spooky sound effects, an apparently headless cat in my sink and six disembodied legs poking out from under it. One good thing came of this: the guys did manage to get the bottom off the disposal, so we could now see Rudy’s face and knew he could breathe. But they couldn’t cut the flange without risking the cat.

Stumped. Officer Tom had another idea. “You know,” he said, “I think the reason we can’t get him out is the angle of his head and body. (you can see where this is going, can’t you?) “If we could just get the sink out,” he continued, “and lay it on its side, I’ll bet we could slip him out.” That sounded like a good idea–at this point, ANYTHING would have sounded like a good idea–and as it turned out, Officer Mike runs a plumbing business on weekends; he knew how to take out the sink! Again they went to work, the three pairs of legs sticking out from under the sink, surrounded by an ever-increasing pile of tools and sink parts. They cut the electrical supply, capped off the plumbing lines, unfastened the metal clamps, unscrewed all the pipes, and about an hour later, voila! The sink was lifted gently out of the countertop, with one guy holding the garbage disposal (which contained Rudy’s head) up close to the sink (which contained Rudy’s body). We laid the sink on its side, but even at this more favorable angle, Rudy stayed stuck.

Officer Tom’s radio beeped, calling him away on some kind of real police business. As he was leaving, though, he had another good idea. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think we can get him out while he’s struggling so much. We need to get the cat sedated. If he were limp, we could slide him out.” And off he went, regretfully, a cat lover still worried about Rudy. The remaining three of us decided that getting Rudy sedated was a good idea, but Rich and I were new to the area. We knew that the overnight emergency veterinary clinic was only a few minutes away, but we didn’t know exactly how to get there. “I know where it is!” declared Officer Mike. “Follow me!”

So Mike got into his patrol car, Rich got into the driver’s seat of our car, and I got into the back, carrying the kitchen sink, what was left of the garbage disposal, and Rudy. It was now about 2:00 a.m. We followed Officer Mike for a few blocks when I decided to put my hand into the garbage disposal to pet Rudy’s face, hoping I could comfort him. Instead, my sweet, gentle bedfellow chomped down on my finger really hard and wouldn’t let go. My scream reflex kicked into gear. Rich slammed on the brakes, hollering “What? What happened? Should I stop?” “No,” I managed to get out between screams, “just keep driving. Rudy’s biting me, but we’ve got to get to the vet. Just go!” Rich turned his attention back to the road, where Officer Mike took a turn we hadn’t expected, and we followed. After a few minutes Rudy let go, and as I stopped screaming, I looked up to discover that we were wandering aimlessly through an industrial park, in and out of empty parking lots, past little streets that didn’t look at all familiar. “Where’s he taking us?” I asked. “We should have been there ten minutes ago!” Rich was as mystified as I was, but all we knew to do was follow the police car until, finally, he pulled into a church parking lot and we pulled up next to him.

As Rich rolled down the window to ask Officer Mike, where are were going, the cop, who was not Mike, rolled down his window and asked, “Why are you following me?” Once Rich and I recovered from our shock at having tailed the wrong cop car and the policeman from his pique at being stalked, he led us quickly to the emergency vet, where Mike greeted us by holding open the door, exclaiming “Where were you guys???” It was lucky that Mike got to the vet’s ahead of us, because we hadn’t thought to call and warn them about what was coming. (Clearly, by this time we weren’t really thinking at all.) We brought in the kitchen sink containing Rudy, and the garbage disposal containing his head, and the clinic staff was ready. They took his temperature (which was down 10 degrees) and his oxygen level (which was half of normal), and the vet declared, “This cat is in serious shock. We’ve got to sedate him and get him out of there immediately.” When I asked if it was OK to sedate a cat in shock, the vet said grimly, “We don’t have a choice.”

With that, he injected the cat. Rudy went limp and the vet squeezed about half a tube of K-Y jelly onto the cat’s neck and pulled him free. Then the whole team jumped into “code blue” mode. (I know this from watching a lot of ER.) They laid Rudy on a cart where one person hooked up IV fluids, another put little socks on his paws (“You’d be amazed how much heat they lose through their footpads,” she said), one covered him with hot water bottles and a blanket, and another took a blow-dryer to warm up Rudy’s now very gunky head. The fur on his head dried in stiff little spikes, making him look pathetically punk as he lay there, limp and motionless. At this point they sent Rich, Mike, and me to sit in the waiting room while they tried to bring Rudy back to life. I told Mike he didn’t have to stay, but he just stood there, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said again and again.

At about 3 a.m., the vet came in to tell us that the prognosis was good for a full recovery. They needed to keep Rudy overnight to re-hydrate him and give him something for the brain swelling they assumed he had, but if all went well, we could take him home the following night. Just in time to hear the good news, Officer Tom rushed in, finished with his real police work and concerned about Rudy. Rich and I got back home about 3:30.

We hadn’t unpacked from our trip, I was still intermittently dizzy, and I still hadn’t prepared for my 8:40 class. “I need a vacation,” I said, and while I called the office to leave a message canceling my class, Rich made us a pitcher of martinis.

I slept late the next day and then badgered the vet about Rudy’s condition until he said that Rudy could come home later that day. I was working on the suitcases when the phone rang. “Hi, this is Steve Huskey from the Norristown Times-Herald,” a voice said. “Listen, I was just going through the police blotter from last night. Um, do you have a cat?” So I told Steve the whole story, which interested him immensely. A couple hours later he called back to say that his editor was interested, too; did I have a picture of Rudy?

The next day Rudy was front-page news, under the ridiculous headline “Catch of the Day Lands Cat in Hot Water.” There were some noteworthy repercussions to the newspaper article. Mr. Huskey had somehow inferred that I called 9-1-1 because I thought Rich, my husband, was going into shock, although how he concluded this from my comment that “his pads were turning blue,” I don’t quite understand. So the first thing I had to do was call Rich at work–Rich, who had worked tirelessly to free Rudy–and swear that I had been misquoted.

When I arrived at work myself, I was famous; people had been calling my secretary all morning to inquire about Rudy’s health. When I called our regular vet (whom I had met only once) to make a follow-up appointment for Rudy, the receptionist asked, “Is this the famous Rudy’s mother?” When I took my car in for routine maintenance a few days later, Dave, my mechanic, said, “We read about your cat. Is he OK?” When I called a tree surgeon about my dying red oak, he asked if I knew the person on that street whose cat had been in the garbage disposal. And when I went to get my hair cut, the shampoo person told me the funny story her grandma had read in the paper, about a cat that got stuck in the garbage disposal. Even today, over a year later, people ask about Rudy, which a 9-year-old neighbor had always called “the Adventure Cat” because he used to climb on the roof of her house and peer in the second-story window at her.

I don’t know what the moral of this story is, but I do know that this “adventure” cost me $1,100 in emergency vet bills, follow-up vet care, new sink, new plumbing, new electrical wiring, and new garbage disposal–one with a cover. The vet can no longer say he’s seen everything but the kitchen sink. I wanted to thank Officers Tom and Mike by giving them gift certificates to the local hardware store, but was told that they couldn’t accept gifts, that I would put them in a bad position if I tried. So I wrote a letter to the Police Chief praising their good deeds and sent individual thank you notes to Tom and Mike, complete with pictures of Rudy, so they could see what he looks like with his head on. And Rudy, whom we originally got for free (or so we thought), still sleeps with me-under the covers on cold nights, and, unaccountably, still sometimes prowls the sink, hoping for fish.

Picture of cat actor only – this is not Rudy!