cat photo

Scratching Post

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Bad Kitty! No scratching! How very many times have I repeated that phrase? Like all cat people, ours is an uneasy treaty with our little wild animals in our one room apartment version of Eden. We are loath to allow the destruction of beloved antiques (oh those caned chairs – like this fellow is going at) or expensive couches and rugs. I love the little devils more than any piece of furniture, but it can get expensive and annoying. There are scratching posts, cardboard boxes with catnip and whatnot where scratching is sanctioned – encouraged in fact. Obviously, declawing is not a phrase we utter in this house.

Like bunnies and beavers which have to nibble and gnaw in order to keep their teeth filed, I guess cats need to scratch to keep their claws sharp and from getting too long. Still, scratching is more than that to a cat – there is joy to scratching. Scratching is a way of marking your turf – it’s a statement. As shown here – it is both a cross cultural phenomenon, Mr. French cat, and one that goes back quite aways.

Blackie is the first cat of my acquaintance who appears to not have so much as a clue as to what the various scratching devices scattered around our tiny apartment are to be used for. He watches Cookie happily scratching away – putting some real back into it. But he has never so much as taken a side swipe at one of them – I have tried every type: cardboard, carpet, rope, large, hanging and on the floor. We’ve showered them in catnip – tried running his feet across them. If anything he seems horrified by them. This does lead to some friction. I occasionally tell him he would be a PERFECT cat if only he could figure that out.

Meanwhile, although my cat Otto knew all about scratching posts and employed them, she had a fetish about Kim’s work chair. She is shown below, in a former apartment, in a series of polaroids Kim took over several days in April, 1995. Evidently she would take the chair on every day at the same time. Needless to say, she eventually denuded the entire chair. Kim continued to use it however, until the frame too fell apart one day, years later.

Otto 4/16/95

Otto 4/16/95

Otto 4/17/19

Otto 4/17/19

Otto 4/25/05

Otto 4/25/05

Kitten Women

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Kitten Women

Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Who can resist taking a photo of new kittens? Clearly the instinct goes back pretty far, as shown here. This card is very beaten up, but I do love it. The alternating height of the women, black and white of the skirts – and in fact kittens! – is wonderful. It is a well composed and thoughtfully executed photo, in addition to the design of the women and cats, the foreground divides against the rising background nicely. It could almost be a set, but is not.

For all of that, it is very poorly printed – negative unevenly placed and black edges showing on two sides, and printed upside down on the postcard stock. Sloppy. Makes me assume that the person who took it was not the person who printed it. Either that or they couldn’t help having a great eye, even if they didn’t much care about the end product of their work. Nothing is written on the back and it was never mailed.

The shorter women of the four, #2 and #4, have tiny, nipped-in waists and are the more fashionably dressed. The women in white seem to be a bit tattier – especially their shoes. No one really looks a lot alike among the four, although if you really study them a case could be made for them being sisters or otherwise related.

Among the kittens, of course I have a soft spot for that black one, #3, curled up contentedly in the hands of the one woman. Cat #1 has annoyed ears, #2 napping, and #4 is the action one – poised for adventure. Let him get at it!

Uninvited Guests

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: If you are a cat or a dog, is there anything better than an unattended table of food? Nope – it is the best. I particularly like the way the two dogs are seated in their chairs, very polite. Sadly, the bright sun seems to have lead to an over-exposure and the precise nature of the treats is a bit obscured.

It brings to mind a stolen food story – one of many, as I am sure all of us with pets can recount. One morning I had set a small bowl of cooked asparagus out on the counter to use in an omelet. I left the kitchen briefly and when I returned the asparagus was entirely gone. Turns out my cat Otto (who loved asparagus) had stolen each and every stalk – and piled it up, neatly, behind the bathroom door.

On the back of this card, written in an absolutely perfect, looping handwriting, it says, Dec. 9, 11- Very many thanks for the Bucks paper. I hope you had a fine day for your visitors yesterday. It was a wet afternoon here, but lovely today. With much love, Sophie. It is addressed: Mrs. Jarvis, 10 Waterloo Crescent Dover. It appears to have been mailed from St. John’s Wood. (I was surprised that it came from Great Britain originally.) The year is obscured on the postmark.

Notes like this, dropped in a mail that was picked up and delivered no less than two times a day, remind me of today’s email. Just a few lines – and you knew the recipient would receive it shortly. In Paris there was a system of pneumatic tubes which worked in conjunction with a staff of messengers well into the 1970’s. This fascinated me when I learned about it a few years ago. Faxes seemed to have skipped the more social aspect of communication, but email and IM have more than made up for it, except you don’t get the great postcard image with it.

Mona + Boots

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: This is the kind that makes up one strata of my cat photo collection. Happy people posing with their cats, and I have written about it at some length in previous posts. (Found here including A Girl and Her Cat, a title I seem to have used again – A Girl and Her Cat, and for the boys, Men and Cats.)

There is no date, but I am guessing that Mona and Boots are shown here in the 1940’s – based on her hair and clothes. Boots is exactly the kind of lovely fat (I will guess boy) cat that I like best – have a good look at that mug on this guy. People always seem at their best in a photo with a cat – it relaxes them and makes them less self-conscious. I am also a fan of photos with these snaggle-tooth edges that I remember from my early childhood.

It used to make me sad to see family photos scattered to the four winds, sitting in a box in a flea market. After all, I can’t rescue them all. (I’m sure I’ve mentioned that we live in a studio apartment which we have crammed all this – and more – into.) However, over time it is interesting to me that these photos have somehow transcended their original record of these folks (and cats) that had emotional meaning for someone.

Now these are images of interest in their own right, a representation of a specific time and place, seventy or more years ago now, Mona with her pleated skirt, ankle socks and carefully curled hair, standing in her lovely Anywhere USA neighborhood, and holding Boots who looks exactly like any number of friendly pudgy tuxedo cats today. While I will continue to bemoan what the loss of the family photo album means to our visual cultural history of record, at least my future self will not be sad to see boxes of unloved photos at the flea markets of the future. The images of today and tomorrow will largely float along some place in the electronic world of the internet, along with this post.

Jenny Reed

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: This photo postcard of this nicely turned out little girl with her cat attracted me in part because of the extreme patience on the part of that kitty. Clearly he is used to being held this way by his pint-sized mistress. The image is timeless, but her black button boots and fluffy dress take us back to the earliest part of the 20th century.  There is no date, however written on the back is the following: Jenny Reed and below in smaller writing but the same pen and hand, Lillie Peckwine Grand Daughter and at the bottom, same hand, but different pen, bernie (sic) Reed.

Somewhere my parents have a photo of me, wearing an old Snoopy sweatshirt age more or less 8, holding our cat – also named Snoopy – in approximately the same pose. I have mentioned Snoopy before – a boy-cat, white with black cow-spots – who was my introduction to cats. He was ever patient, both with me and the German Shepard, Duchess, and they were my constant companions who figured largely in my daily play world.

To Kim’s ongoing amusement I will occasionally pick Blackie up and carry him around this way and kiss the top of his head. He gets a slightly panicked look, but has learned to adjust to it and even purrs. Cookie, on the other hand, can be held for about 30 seconds in any position before a full fledged fear and flight set in. I shouldn’t do it to Blackie, but I guess I’m still a little girl at heart.

Three of a Kind

Three of a Kind

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: As a self-professed lover of the tuxedo cat genre this photo called my name. There’s nothing on the back, but I imagine this as three generations of one family of cats. The rather sour-pussed mom to the back, an adolescent kitten, and one from the latest batch. My idea of heaven – a pile of black and whiters tumbling around together in the backyard or house. It is the youngest kit in this group whose markings I like best – that white mustache is a hoot! If I were to hazard a guess I would say that the younger of the two is a female and the one up front, a guy. He probably grew into a lovely friendly boy, who got a little hefty and liked lots of pets. Boy cats are that way – the girls are wily and smart, and you pet them as they run by you on their way to complete their urgent cat business.

While I understand that the markings on a cat creates a strictly anthropomorphic response in me, I cannot help myself. My cat Otto had a perfect black mustache on a white mouth – Charlie Chaplin or Hitler, depending on your predilection. When selecting Cookie and Blackie most recently, it was Cookie’s comical, symmetrical yet somewhat off kilter markings that caught my eye. In the end, Blackie has certainly emerged as the most handsome kitty, but I will always be attracted to white paws, bib and a good mustache! Cookie sold the pair of them to me initially. Many of you Facebook followers have seen the recent photo of Cookie and Blackie I offer below.

Cookie & Blackie 2015

Breaking News

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: This is an image I have seen and been entertained by before. For some reason I decided to buy this particular card because of the writing on the front – not often, but sometimes that seems to make a postcard call to me.

This card was addressed to Miss Edith Farrington and quite simply, Hartman, NY sent on October 17. 1905 is my best guess from the postmark – there is evidence of a stamp but it is gone. On the front, Frank I. Grim with Best Regards and Come again. However, the best are, I thought you had forgotten me (there’s exuberance, isn’t there?) and my favorite, exact picture of our cat– pointing to a feisty looking fellow (or girl, but feels like fellow) on the end.

Flirtation! We are left wondering if he got the girl. Since Edith seems to have kept this, we will assume so. It does leave me wondering where and if future generations will be able to find any sweet remnants of love and courtship from days gone by. Emails printed and saved? Long abandoned blogs and online diaries? Interesting to consider our electronic ghosts of the future.

Kits!

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kittens 1  kittens 2

Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Hard to resist a photo of kittens and I fell for these little fellows, not once but twice!  The high fidelity of these snapshots jumped out at me and I thought the two photos should stay together. I purchased them separately, a week or so apart.

Looks like this group was quite the handful. Two tuxedoes – what a haul! I am a sucker for the black spot on the chin of the one. The tabby is the one who looks like the hell raiser of the group; the white one is the sweet guy. Purring fluff balls!

The cuteness of kittens is clearly a necessary design of nature given the upheaval they generally cause. I remember when I first acquired my cat Otto as a tiny kitten – stinky, messy and determined to tear the apartment to pieces – her good looks saved her on many occasions as she scaled furniture and sometimes walls. She had jumping projects – for example she practiced repeatedly until she could jump to the top of the fridge from the floor. A loud crowing meow of pleasure when she made it! Just about the time you think you can’t stand it another day, bam! They have graduated and are magically less stinky, cleaner and civilized enough for everyone to get along.

The first cat I really remember as a kitten was my orange tabby Pumpkin. A gift from a friend whose Persian cat had strayed, he was an angelic ball of fur, small enough to be held in one hand and spend his first few nights in a Kleenex box. He eventually grew to the size of a small dog, with a huge striped tail and immense, sturdy cat paws. He allowed me to carry him around, but no one else dared pick him up. Pumpkin was a one girl cat. (That is until my father, in retirement, wooed him with smoked salmon and won his undying affection.)

Our Blackie and Cookie are barely out of kittenhood – Cookie still chases her tail routinely and needless to say they speed through the apartment for a rousing game of kill-the-guy several times a day. They are the first litter mates I have had since childhood. They are best friends who love to hate each other – that’s what being a kit is all about it seems.

We are out of town as this gets published – far away from our cat kids. Miss you guys! See ya soon!

A Man and His Cat

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: A jaunty photo of a workman and his tuxedo cat here. I have a particular soft spot for photos of men with cats – they are, in my mind, a sort of genre of their own. (Previous posts include Men and Cats and Men in Hats with Cats.) Women and children often grab cats up and hold them up next their face – look how cute our kitty is! My cats hate it when I pick them up and kiss their faces – like small kids they wriggle and wrinkle their faces in disdain and embarrassment. Oh the damaged dignity! Meanwhile, men tend to give them some space. The cat is held respectfully, stands with them or in front of them – or as in this case, on his shoulder. Very nice!

Several cats ago, my cat Otto used to stand on my shoulder. She (yep, Otto was a girl) liked to use her shoulder perch as a launching pad to get some place way high up – like the top shelf at the vet’s office. When Kim arrived on the scene she (who adored him) coerced him into a routine where she would jump from his shoulder to a high shelf in the bedroom closet. She would meow with triumph and pleasure!

In a previous apartment Otto occasionally sat on a bookcase shelf near the front door and leaped onto the shoulder of unsuspecting incoming guests. I remember one occasion when she did this to my friend Francis and scared the wits out of him. He was wearing a cashmere overcoat I feared for – there was another memorable incident with an elderly friend and a fur coat. (Clearly Otto figured she had bagged big game.) She was a great little tuxedo, not unlike this good looking specimen here.  Otto was the first cat of my adult life; smart and full of adventure, a superb little cat friend.

Let Sleeping Cats Lie

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: This fellow caught my attention recently. He looks so nicely settled into this pillow with that little tuft of hair sticking out at the back, over his hind leg. He’s giving us quite a look, under his slightly furrowed brow and almost closed eyes. The ability of cats to deeply enjoy (and employ!) sleep is one of their most well recognized traits. I don’t know about you, but when I am leaving for work on a cold and dreary day, the sight of my kitties settling in for a day-long snooze on the still warm blankets fills me with envy! While our bed is a cat free-for-all even that territory is generally carefully divided. Day-time sleeping allows for a different (more liberal) distribution than nighttime, which seems to break down to Blackie further up the bed, either between me and Kim or behind my knees. Cookie has a pillow at the foot of the bed (a relic from my foot surgery) that she generally claims at night. It is Blackie’s responsibility, evidently, to wake us in the morning. He never got the hang of the time change this year and persists in thinking that 4:30 AM is the right time for the first pass at us.

Beyond the bed, sleeping spots are won and then carefully guarded and occasionally fought over. The top of the couch, near the windows is generally ruled over by Blackie, while Cookie has possession of the chairs – and best of all, a spot on a cushion near Kim where he works. Oh my – she is the Queen of Everything seated there and fiercely defends it against any possible intervention by Blackie; who is indeed jealous. Have a look at her just the other day below.

Cookie as the Queen of Everything

My mother has pointed out that when a cat in the family dies, the cats all shift their sleeping spots to new ones. Not that they take over that cat’s spot, but for some reason the disruption seems to demand a whole rethinking of spots and who belongs where. A bit of cat etiquette and ritual we are unlikely to ever understand.