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When civilization was just getting underway, cats were put to work protecting our grain supplies from rodents. These days we make home pages for our cats and purchase rodents for them with our hard-earned cash. We buy them organic cat litter when there's not even a comparable product available for our own use! Clearly, the cats have turned the tables on us. Shocking, isn't it?


♥ My Cats ♥ have their own web pages, of course.

Ambar's cats have a Nermal-like greeting card quality. The Abyssinian kitten is particularly cute.

Bergamot. Photo by Peter Stoll. Bergamot lived with Pete 'n' Kelly.

Bill the Cat is a favorite celebrity, along with Hobbes, Krazy Kat, and Scratchy (pictured here with his best pal Itchy).


Bright, Chloe, Death, Lily, and Steve own Muffy and Adam. They've become greeting card stars!

David's cats let me cat-sit them.

Flame was a redhead with a matching human named Dan.

Liz's cats also let me cat-sit them.

Bruno with Nina. Nina and Bruno live together. Bruno once had a memorable visit from my cat Jackson.


Nina's former roommate Lexi is extremely photogenic, and also quite rotoscopable.

Nosy helps Chris when he's writing.

Rosie and Lupo own Ian and Zoe.


Vicka has kitties by the bedful and the boxful.

Zackie and Oberon (who look awfully guilty here) own two humans named Beth 'n' Eric.

A True Story

I had a roommate named Larry, whose girlfriend Francesca worked in a pet hospital. One time we visited the hospital and met a cat who looked a lot like me, right down to the short hair and blue eyes. The cat (Marty is his name) was very affectionate. He'd been living at the hospital for some time, and was very sociable. He would hop up onto the operating table to watch surgery in progress, and never got in the way.

Larry and I hatched a plan in which a beautiful intelligent rich woman with long red hair (we were thinking Jessica Rabbit, only with two eyes) would adopt Marty, fall madly in love with him, and then meet me and fall madly in love with me. Let the cat do all the legwork, which is only fair, considering that he's got twice as many legs as I do . . .

The plan never quite worked out. Larry himself adopted Marty, and we discovered that he (Marty, not Larry) had a misfeature: He liked to pee. All over the place.

Okay, so cats will mark territory if they smell that another cat has done the same. We're reasonable people. Acting on the expert advice of Francesca, we steam-cleaned the rugs and put whiz-bang anti-odor stuff on them. He peed on them some more, as if to say, "thanks for cleaning my litterbox."

Francesca's a no-nonsense type. Call her up at work and she'll maintain a conversation with you while shoving a rubber tube down a dog's throat. When cats really get out of hand, she has some serious feline bondage gear (her collection of human bondage gear pales in comparison).

That wasn't quite what Marty needed, though. Marty's problem, she figured, was more hormonal. So one day, after work, she arrived with a syringe full of depo-provera. Marty, already fixed, was being chemically demasculinized.

The wet floors continued. Francesca put him on kittycat birth control pills. He didn't seem to like this much, because one morning, blissfully sleeping in the arms of her lover, Francesca woke up to the experience of Marty peeing on her head.

Marty's back living at the pet hospital again, where he and Francesca get along much better.

"I'm afraid I'm not personally qualified to confuse cats."
    -- Graham Chapman