The Devious Book for Cats

by Joe Garden

  Shelf Swat

  Knocking things off shelves for sport, more commonly known as the game of shelf swat, was first played in 1835 by Smokey, a Maine Coon living in Bangor. Originally, it consisted of a simple wooden mantle over a fireplace, a small pair of deer antlers, six tin cans, and two beeswax candles, but today it has evolved into a global athletic phenomenon. Luminaries of the game have broken some of humanity’s most precious valuables, and in so doing inspired kittens everywhere to do the same. Like all great sports, shelf swat has had its controversies. Many questioned ’90s-era champion shelf-swatter Sprinkles after he somehow knocked off a petrified dinosaur bone four times his own weight. However, it is undeniably the beloved national pastime of our species.

  Scoring in shelf swat is awarded based on three criteria: item, choreography, and artistry. Some cats focus on racking up as many points as possible in one category, while others go for a strong average across the board. Since every shelf is different, it’s best not to lock yourself into a scoring strategy until it’s determined which shelf you’ll be playing on.

  ITEM

  Points in this category are awarded based on monetary value. Some shelf-swatters swear by the strategy of knocking off just a few high-value items, while others try to run up the score based on pushing over a high number of low-value objects. Item lingo can get pretty confusing, so try to learn some basic terms.

  Crasher: An object that makes a loud noise when it hits the floor. Item points vary, but these often net big scores in the artistic category. Blintz, who played in the American Shelf-Swat League (later absorbed into the International Shelf-Swatters Association) from 1940 to 1944, was nicknamed “The King of Crash” for his mastery of knocking over items like cowbells, silver teakettles, and coffee cans full of coins.

  Illumi-knockoffs: Humans turn these on to brighten up the place. Generally one will bring in 30–50 points, but if the item is really old or has a beer insignia, it could be worth a lot more.

  Time-suckers: These are things that humans either read, watch, or listen to. Even though they don’t bring in a lot of points on a per-item basis (generally in the range of 13.95 to 23.50), they often exist in big groups on shelves, so the cumulative score can be huge. Isis, 2006’s Rookie of the Year, made her mark on the league by swatting off her person’s entire 1,500-piece world-music CD collection in under three minutes.

  Breakers: If you’ve got a breaker on your shelf, it could be a point-scoring bonanza. These objects are often found in the homes of humans called “glass sculpture collectors,” and values can soar in the tens or even hundreds of thousands. Bonus points are awarded for a shatter radius of more than four feet.

  CHOREOGRAPHY

  The Flick (5 points): The flick is the most basic move, which you must master to become a champion shelf-swatter. Cats who go for speed frequently flick because it knocks a lot off the shelf in a short amount of time. To use the flick, just align your forelimb flush with an object, snap, and pull back quickly. The motion should come naturally, because it’s a lot like the movement paws make when you’re dreaming.

  “The Flick”

  The Fakey (10 points): This full-body fake-out move can net you some big-time points. First, pass over the object as if you aren’t going to knock it over. Then, in a single, fluid motion, push it underneath your body, and leap up into the air. Give the item a real good heave, too, because the farther it goes flying, the more points are allotted. Once you master the move, try adding an aerial flourish to your finishing leap with a vertical spin.

  Fourteen-year league veteran Frizzler attributed his unprecedented longevity in the game to frequent use of the fakey. So skilled was Frizzler at pretending like he wasn’t going to knock off an item that his person never was able to catch him, thus explaining why he was never ordered to get down off a shelf.

  The Grand Dare (14 points): This move is all about theatricality. Focus on an object the width of the space between your outstretched paws, like a big fancy candle or a Precious Moments figurine. Make sure your person is present and looking at you when executing the move. Place one paw on either side of the item—close enough to smack it, but not making direct contact. Stare directly into the eyes of your person and really build up the suspense over whether or not you’ll knock it off the shelf. Then, the second your person gets up to try and grab the item, let it rip. The Russian swat master Masha Leveetsana was renowned for her graceful, dramatic execution of the grand dare, which she once performed with a Fabergé egg from Tsar Alexander III’s personal collection.

  The Wedgie (20 points): Lesser cats wither away when faced with a shelf packed with items. Pros use the wedgie. You’ve got to be fearless (some would say nuts) to try it, but in a game of shelf swat, there’s no more advanced move. To do it, get on one end of the shelf, hug the wall, and squeeze behind each item so they tip off, one by one, as you pass by. Seems easy, right? Well, that’s what every cat says until she’s in the tool-shed, trying to squish past a forty-pound bucket of loose nails and finds herself stuck. Kitties, for your own safety, leave this move to the pros.

  ARTISTRY

  Scoring in this category is based on the human judge’s decision, which is made at the moment the object falls off the shelf. Many cats, for obvious reasons, object to letting a human’s opinion figure into the score, but every great sport needs an x-factor and shelf swat is no exception. A judge’s score can be determined as follows:

  PENALTIES

  There are no penalties in shelf swat, nor are there “losers.” As in life, there are just degrees to which a cat wins.

  The Legend of the Crazy Cat Lady

  The Legend of the Crazy Cat Lady has been told on camping trips for generations. Cats have held their kittens spellbound around the fire with this cautionary tale about the dangers of straying too far from home and snooping in houses where they don’t belong. When telling this story yourself, it helps if you make it your own by adding in personal details and insisting that it happened to your cousin or neighbor. By the end, if you tell it well, all the kittens are scared straight, and a little extra flourish will make them all scream!

  No one knows where the Crazy Cat Lady lives or how she got to be the Crazy Cat Lady. Some people say she was just a normal lady who lost her mind when someone swindled her out of a great fortune. Other people say she was a lonely woman who thought she loved cats, but what she really loved was the feeling of being needed by cats that couldn’t make her understand that they could do just fine without her. Wherever she came from, one thing is for sure: She is crazy and she has a lot of cats.

  You wouldn’t think that is such a bad thing; but on the contrary, it is worse than you could possibly imagine.

  The Crazy Cat Lady lives alone in a small ranch house with two thousand newspapers and almost a hundred cats and only leaves to buy cat litter and cat food. When she does, she bundles herself from head to foot with mismatched scarves and coats and mittens.

  If you go to her house, perhaps on a dare, the first thing you notice is the smell. Only it’s less a smell than a force of odor that hits you right square in the nose. It smells like almost a hundred cats had one litter box to use, and they’ve used it all they can. That impression is correct, because one Crazy Cat Lady cannot clean one litter box enough to keep it nice and fresh like the one you have at home.

  After you get past the torrid stank, you start to smell the newspapers. It’s not a wholly unpleasant odor, but the smell of two thousand newspapers is singular. Normal people would recycle them before they got so musty, or at least stack them in the basement or garage, but the Crazy Cat Lady loves newspapers as much as she thinks she loves cats, so they sit there, smelling, smelling.

  Your brain has been so busy processing the smells you barely notice that it’s impossible to see anything because the curtains are drawn tight. As your eyes adjust to the dark, you can’t make out any shapes. All you see is movement.

  At first, you think it’s just out of the corner of your eye, but then
you realize it’s everywhere, all around you. It’s the movement of almost a hundred cats in search of a perching spot that isn’t already occupied. It’s the movement of almost a hundred cats trying to sneak up on one another to pounce on them in play, only to be pounced on themselves. It’s the movement of almost a hundred cats scampering and sniffing about for scraps of food they might have missed after being forced to compete with almost ninety-nine other cats for a morsel or kibble that has not yet been consumed.

  But it’s not just food they’re after. If a human visitor enters, the cats will swarm, craving a skritching because there’s almost a hundred of them and only one lady with two hands to give them skritches, and unless she has company, which she rarely does because she is crazy, their chins go horribly underskritched.

  But you are not a human. You are a cat, and it’s much different. They will all swarm on you to sniff you, trying to catch the scent of the outside in your fur, because they have long forgotten what the not-house smells like. They also want to size you up to see if you will be much competition for the food that is just scattered on the floor at feeding time, because it is inconvenient to keep almost a hundred cat dishes clean.

  Then you hear her. Her call sounds like “Here, kitty kitty kitty!” or “Oh, how precious!” Even though you’re trying to blend in amongst almost a hundred other cats, she spots you immediately and zeroes in. She can tell by the brightness in your eyes that you are not like the others. Before you can react, she swoops in and picks you up under the forelegs, like one would hold a baby human. You can try to struggle, but there’s no escaping her grip.

  “Oh, you have tags!” she’ll say, and for once you are thankful for that horrible collar your person makes you wear. You think it’s over, because she has to follow the rule of humans and call the number on your tag. You breathe a sigh of relief, until you feel her dry, cracked fingers fumbling at your neck.

  In the blink of an eye, she removes your collar and throws it in the trash. “There. Isn’t that better?” she says, but it isn’t better. Never has having an unrestricted neck felt so confining. “Now you can live with me and all my babies. Look at you! You have a nose, so I’ll call you Button 2.”

  You try to explain that this makes no sense, that all the cats have noses, that Button 2 isn’t your name, that you have some serious concerns about what happened to the first Button, and that you aren’t a baby, but a cat that belongs to a very nice uncrazy cat lady who will miss you very much. But she’s already gone back into her other room to watch soap operas and yell that the commercials are getting too suggestive. And you fear that you will spend the rest of your life as the Crazy Cat Lady’s one hundredth cat.

  But just as you’ve lost all hope the doorbell rings. You climb under the curtain and spy a man dressed all in brown. He’s holding a package and a clipboard. The look on his face says he knows what smell lies behind the door, and he’s already holding his breath. The Crazy Cat Lady makes her way to the door, shooing all the cats away, but you hide behind an umbrella stand filled with junk mail.

  As the door opens, you see your big chance. You summon all your strength and bolt out. Everyone is surprised, but it’s too late to stop you. You run as far as you can, leaving behind the sounds of the man in brown apologizing to the Crazy Cat Lady, until you hide under a bush to catch your breath. When you finally get home, it’s never felt so good to be inside.

  So whatever you do, stay away from strange houses, and never, EVER look in the mirror after midnight and say “Crazy Cat Lady” three times, or she will come and SNATCH YOU!

  Felinism

  Since its late-nineteenth-century inception, the goal of felinism has been to ensure freedom and opportunity across all spheres of cat life. From the right to claws to equal time outdoors, felinism has forced the Western world to examine its attitudes toward cats and their perceived place in society. Felinists are leaders, not followers, of public opinion.

  Historically the word “felinism” referred to “the general qualities of felines,” and it was not until 1892 that the word, following the French term féliniste, was used regularly to describe the advocacy of more rights for cats. Felinism has never enjoyed a truly universal definition, but most scholars agree that it seems to involve two tenets. One seeks to address how cats ought to be viewed and treated. The other is a reaction to how cats are treated, rebelling against myths created to confine them in an oppressed state. The overall aim of felinism as a movement is to dispel the notion that cats are not the greatest.

  As it has progressed, some theorists cite three periods, or waves, of activity.

  THE FIRST WAVE OF FELINISM

  First-wave felinism refers to a period during the early twentieth century that focused primarily on dispelling the idea that cats are somehow inferior when compared with other animals. Even today, studies show that in arguments of compatibility, cats are still frequently characterized unfavorably and portrayed as aloof, unemotional, and moody.

  First-wave felinists were committed to effecting change, but progress would not come easily. Prominent cats of the movement, such as Pants of Cleveland, Ohio, were leaders and dedicated much of their lives to championing the cause. Many hours were spent in laps demonstrating that cats are just as capable of affection as anybody else.

  Pants

  Despite the fact that species discrimination still exists, the work of first-wave felinists eventually made cats more popular than dogs. Today there are 68 million dogs “owned” in the United States. By comparison, 73 million cats live with people. Cats are simply more popular, and as such, it can be strongly argued that they are better. Five million times better.

  THE SECOND WAVE OF FELINISM

  Beginning in the 1960s, felinism entered its second wave. Second-wave felinism picked up where the first wave left off, recognizing the strides that were made but further encouraging cats to understand their lives as part of a power structure that ultimately was controlling and insulting.

  Felinist Couch

  Felinists of the second wave demanded that their autonomous nature be fully acknowledged and respected. This era encouraged cats to confront the implications of how they had been stereotyped and to embrace the belief that they were valuable as more than just companions, or worse, mere pets.

  Cats began to reevaluate aspects of their lives that had previously been considered sacrosanct. The idea that cats needed to have doors opened for them was challenged by those who showed that they could easily wedge their paws under a door and open it, if they so desired. The second wave of felinism strove to open cats’ eyes to possibilities of achievement and advancement long denied them.

  This period also saw a marked increase in civil disobedience. In response to the arbitrary discrimination of repeatedly being banned from furniture in the living room, Phyllis, a calico from Boston, Massachusetts, was the first cat to completely cover the couch in her fur. She also would not sleep a wink in the demeaning “cat bed” that her person put in the corner. Throughout the United States, felinists followed Phyllis’s example and began shedding all over couches.

  THE THIRD WAVE OF FELINISM

  Third-wave felinists are those who have experienced a different life than older cats and feel that it sets them apart. These cats benefited from the work of cats before them but came of age in a frenzied world where it was necessary to juggle a person, sleep, and work.

  Third-wavers seek to challenge the second wave’s ideas about what constitutes the idealized life of a cat. Their contention is that the second wave demeans those who are perfectly happy sleeping in a barn, raising kittens, or eating mice.

  Stan the Man, a tabby from New Orleans, Louisiana, is a third-wave felinist who enjoys traditional cat pursuits, like spending time in the sun, but equally appreciates nontraditional activities like getting into the bathtub as the water is draining out.

  Standing in the warm water, Stan the Man doesn’t care what anybody thinks. He’s all-the-way happy doing what he wants, and that’s what he�
�d like for all felinists. By purring to successes of the past while staring at the future, third-wave felinists continue to fight for a total emancipation of the cat.

  Stan the Man

  An Illustrated Guide to Napping

  Nothing caps off a solid day of doing nothing quite like a good nap. Also, nothing starts off a day of doing nothing like a nap. And there’s really nothing better than a nap to help you break up a busy afternoon, relax after an uneventful evening, or wind down from a hectic weekend of relaxing and taking naps.

  Without a doubt, napping is one of our favorite activities. It’s enjoyed by cats young and old, and it isn’t likely to go out of style anytime soon. Surveys show that the popularity of napping among cats ages 18 to 34 months has never been higher.

  Humans enjoy making fun of our propensity for slumber, but the fact is, the smarter and more efficient cat brain requires more downtime than its human counterpart. It’s obvious when you look at humans that they don’t get enough sleep. They have terrible balance, bump into things in the dark, and can’t pounce worth a dime.