52
J u s t M t ’ tune 21. 2002
HUMOR
............. ▼..............
True nature
You can’t de-queer that cat
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A film series creating awareness for LGBT/queer communities of color
oday we will he discussing the mysterious
world of cats.
Many of us recall from reports we
wrote in fifth grade using the research
technique of copying out of the encyclope
dia— which is another way of saying “in our
own words”— that cats and people have lived
together since the earliest civilizations. (W e’re
talking long before Melissa went hlond.)
Cleopatra and other ancient Egyptians kept
domestic cats who roamed the palace wearing
hejeweled golden collars, as evidenced in scien
tifically authenticated hieroglyphs and old
Cecil B. DeMille movies.
You would think that after all this time
someone would have figured out why cats do
certain things, like meowing to go out the front
door when the hack door they just came in is
still wide open. Or launching an attack on a
stray pencil— whose
offense only the cat per
ceives— just when the
humans are finally
falling asleep. Or, if you
so much as shift your
foot under the covers,
huffing out of the room
indignant on a cold
night when you would
appreciate the extra
warmth.
That very same cat, of
course, will withstand all
manner of pushing and
cajoling and refuse to
relinquish her spot in the
middle of the hed when
you would like some peo
ple-only time, such as
during the mating ritual.
Is there anything as ego-
deflating as looking up
from between a woman’s
thighs to find her absent-
mindedly petting the cat?
Perhaps this explains why so many dykes have
never warmed to the idea of applying a sexual
connotation to the word “pussy.”
Yes, cats remain a mystery to us, and that’s
why we like them. We tend to get bored and
irritated with things we know too much about,
such as the fiber content of our breakfast cereal.
Cats operate according to a a x le of reason
that is all their own, much like the Christian
Coalition. Just as Pat Robertson and Jerry Fal-
well continue to blame us wanton home« for
society’s descent from godliness, reality plays
little role in cat logic.
he cat with whom we live is attuned to
some strange cosmic influence beyond our
human comprehension. Kitty (not her real
name) is wired to a signal that apparently only
cats and John Ashcroft get, although a good
deal of Kitty’s bizarre behavior makes more
sense than spending thousands of tax dollars on
a drape to cover a statue’s bare breast. Still,
there’s no getting around her being odd.
Kitty will regard Sweetie and me as little
more than door operators and kibble dispensers
for months on end. We try everything: talking
in that silly kitty voice, scratching the couch
fabric in the most appealing way.
But can we get her to come sit with us like
a “normal cat” while we read the Sunday
paper? Nooo. The sound of the pages turning is
T
H o n o r e d J,y
trincando
Saturday, June 29 @ 6 p.
Hollywcxxi Theatre
4122 NR Sand> Blvd.
C h a i co
way too scary. (Perhaps Ashcroft’s feeling about
breasts?) And heaven forbid we should try to
pick her up if we haven’t kept current on our
tetanus shots.
But when we go away for one measly holi
day weekend, even though we leave plenty of
food and water and arrange for the neighbor to
let her in and out every day, we come back to a
cat who acts like she’s just been let out of one
of those anti-gay deprogramming places. She’s
on her very best behavior— effusively affection
ate and attentive to the
“right” people (us).
W hile we’re unloading
the car, putting our left
over tofu dogs in the
fridge and tossing our
rainbow flag towels in the
laundry, she weaves
around our legs for all
she’s worth. She follows
our every move. She
undergoes a makeover so
miraculous you’d think
she’d been hanging out
with Cher.
W hen we finally sit
down to check our mail
and sort through the
newspapers, exhausted
from the long drive and
needing to deal with our
piled-up stuff before we
turn in, the cat’s gotta
have it. She climbs into
my lap without so much
as a casual invitation and
starts purring like a Hitachi magic wand.
She rolls onto her hack and wants her belly
rubbed. She does such an innocent-yet-seductive
number that we’re convinced she’s been renting
old Ann-Margret videos while we were gone.
And, of course, I fall for it, fawning all over
the poor widdle pussitat, scritching her neck
just the way she likes and letting her do the
push-paw dance in my lap until the tops of my
thighs are bruised. (Yes, I swear, those marks
are from my cat.) I’m such a sucker.
But it doesn’t take long for Kitty’s true,
aloof nature to re-emerge. The effect of our
absence might make her seem different for a
little while, but she is who she is at the core
no matter what kind of aversion therapy she’s
sustained.
You’d think the de-queering movement would
get a clue. Just like a briefly neglected cat, some
essentially LGBTQ people can he tweaked to
dress and act in somelxxly's narrowly defined,
acceptable way, hut everyone is still who they are
inside.
Like our Kitty, who is now sprawled out
bathing herself in the middle of our bed, ignor
ing me.
jn
Softie SALLY S heklow is a free-lance writer and
member o f the Eugene comedy troupe WYMPROVi
Advice on de-queermg her cat can be sent to
sally@wymprov.com.