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21 february 2001

debutante

Dogs have owners, cats have staff. Now I get it.

"How's Wilma?" everyone asks. Does the name Princess Wilma answer your question?

At seven months old, Wilma is no longer a handful. She's an armful. Between the kibble, the IAMS gourmet squish-in-a-can, her new favorite snack (roast beef), the biweekly tuna treats, she now weighs seven pounds and can jump onto the bar table in one spring. This recent growth spurt has kept her lady in waiting rather busy.

It started with the new litter box. Because Wilma was small, I got her the medium box, thinking that it would last a good long while. Yeah, right. It was just the right size if I don't mind thrice-daily scoopings. When the box got too full, Wilma (politely enough) left a little "surprise" right next to the box on her bathroom floor. No fuss, no muss. Just a little reminder--hey, Mommy. Time for new potty digs.

Fine. So we hop into the car for a little trip to the pet store, where we peruse the aisles for a new poop condo. After serious consideration, we decide on the KittyDump 2001 model, which is approximately the size of my bedroom and has a detatchable roof and air filter. Into the shopping cart, and onto my credit card it goes. Along with, of course, a nice new doormat so that she may daintily wipe her paws.

We're not finished yet. We have to make a run to the toy aisle, because Wilma has been a good girl, and she's pretty much ripped the fur off of her windup mouse. The bouncy mouse is in pretty poor condition, and she chewed the string off of the pink fish.

After sampling a few for pounce durability, fun quotient, and attention-getting bells and colors, we both like the jingling monkey. He's big, he's heavily upholstered, and Wilma can fit one arm in her mouth. Sold! Sorry, monkey. You're dead meat.

On our way to the cash register, I remember that Wilma is now on a big-girl, high-variety diet. Meaning, she gets squishy food and kibble each day, and she needs another designer-color, rubber-bottom bowl in which to place the squish. While she is quite satisfied with me spoon-feeding her, (think I'm kidding? I wish.) there are only so many hours in the day. We get the green bowl, which gets high marks for lickability and low spill potential.

Four more bags of liver treats, meow-meow! (You're welcome, Wilma.)

At last, we pay and are on our way home. I set up the CatWhizz Deluxe--roof, air filter, doormat, and all. Wilma is delighted. She walks around in it for awhile, wide-eyed. You'd think she just bought a loft space in SoHo for all of her oohing and aahing.

Just to make sure she'd like it, I painted her a little door sign, "Le Chateau du Wilma". The personal touch. Really makes a difference.

So in case I haven't completely freaked out my friends and family with my recent conversion to full-on Cat Lady status, here's a neat little tidbit that was recently published in our local paper, the Winston-Salem Journal:

(Excerpted from "Legacy in Art: Gallery Hop", in our weekly Arts section)

Cupid is up to his old tricks, even before Valentine's Day. In fact, he pierced some hearts just this weekend, as evidenced by some of the couples seen at the "Valentine Extravaganza" Gallery Hop, held from 7 to 10 p.m. Friday in the downtown Arts District...

...Kim Holzer and her friend [Friend X] took in a show of Helen Marie Smith's new works, on view at Artworks. And who was in Kim's arms? No, not [Friend X]; it was Wilma, Kim's cat. "She's a regular at the gallery hops," Ms. Holzer said of the folksy feline.

Garfield...Morris...it is my pleasure to introduce Wilma. Hello, world.