Evening star., 1941-11-09

ONE OF those perennial arguments
that 60 on from generation to
= generation, cats are frequently de-
scribed as being far less intelligent
than dogs. The fact that most cats
refuse to roll over and play dead on
command. or otherwise make spec
tacles of themselves. is considered
proof of a lack of mental ability.
Personally. don't believe that the
two ideas have any connection. Many
bank presidents might also refuse to
roll over and play dead, but this
does not mean an inadequate 10.
A cat, whose sense of dignity is at
least as great as fnancier's, simply
doesn't see any reason in such antics
and thus refuses to be party to them.
do not mean to imply. however.
that an intelligent cat doesn't have
his or her own little bag of tricks.
These are not designed to amuse the
owner or to help him break awkward
pauses in conversation; instead, they
consist Of various systems of practical
and psychological racketeering, meant
to install the cat as master of the
household in as short time as possible.
Being a dog-lover is easy, for
neurotic or for anybody else. Dogs
build up ones self-esteem at almost
every turn. making even the poorest
human specimen feel like a king. To
enter into friendly relationship with
a cat. however, you must be made of
far sterner material. You must, in
other words. be able to take it. A cat
may have deep affection for you.
but the one thing you can be sure of
is that her love won't take the form of
blind alteration. Underneath her gen.
tie manners will be concealed a work.
ing blueprint of all your weaknesses.
and a willingness to take advantage OF
them to the extent of the legal limit.
T"W I0SSOU
MY UNDERSTANDING of the many
ways in which a cat can make mon
key of its provider developed through
my ownership of Mollie the Maltese.
When she came home with US. l
accidentally stepped with almost Grip
pling force on her right front paw.
Mollie retired under the bed to nurse
her pain and her sense of outrage. She
was oblivious at first to the apologies
which we delivered kneeling by the
appraised bedspread. But the saucers
of canned milk and salmon which we
recklessly showed along to her over
our second-best rug had somewhat
less frigid reception. She was limping
when she came out, but there were
fakes of salmon on her whiskers and
a meditative look in her eye which
indicated that she knew how to deal
with these softies in the future.
That paw did Mollie good service
for several weeks. The limp disap-
peared completely after few days. and
she frolicked gaily about the house.
knocking bittersweet out OF vases and
sharpening her claws on the frame OF
the divan. When she was hungry,
however, she would sit down before
an empty saucer. hold her once
injured paw in the air. and look at me
with an expression of gentle. martyred
accusation. After few weeks she even
forgot which paw had been stepped
on. Often she held up the wrong one.
as she turned on her injured look and
tried to shame me into giving her an
extra portion of liver.
Mollie soon developed other devious
methods of managing her adopted
family. One OF her favorite third
degree devices was to sit in the middle
of the kitchen while dinner was being
cooked and stare at the icebox door
with the unwinking intensity OF a
fur-bearing basilisk. After spilling a
fancy dessert in the act of making
detour around her, one generally gave
in and fed her ahead of schedule. If
this didn't work, she sometimes caught
the edge of her empty saucer IN her