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My Week With Marlow

What I Can Learn From My Cats

Cartoonist Ruben Bolling named one of his books, All I Ever Really Needed To Know I Learned From My Golf-Playing Cat. It was intended, of course, as a joke.

If I were Jon Carroll, or Adair Lara, or even Dave Barry, I could probably write a clever and touching essay on the lessons my two tabby cats, Champagne and Jagermeister (the boys), have to teach. And I realize one is on a slippery slope when one begins to attribute anthropomorphic characteristics to one's companion animals.

Nevertheless, sleeping 20 or so hours a day and being nonchalant--at the very least, exhibiting a general air of unconcern--the rest of the time is starting to look like a good lifestyle choice. I've never had to take either of the boys to the chiropractor. They seem to have a nearly limitless capacity to absorb pleasure and affection--but of course only on their own terms and in their own time. They are pushed into paroxysms of joy by one-sixth of a can of tuna every morning for breakfast.

And they're both good looking and go well with the furniture and rugs. Plus, they worship Vicki, my wife. All in all, I'm trying to learn to be more like my cats.


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