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In the Company of Friends

Denise Flaim | Animal House

August 27, 2002

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'There's the cat lady."

For women of a certain age and marital status, that innocent nickname bestowed by neighborhood kids can sting. The stereotype it evokes, of course, is of a single woman who, in response to advancing age and desperation, surrounds herself with an ever- expanding circle of felines.

It's such a stereotype, in fact, that it has found its way into the ultimate cultural barometer: "Sex and the City." In an episode last season, Miranda learns that the elderly woman who owned her apartment previously died in it - and by the time she was found her kitties had made her into Friskies Buffet.

HBO notwithstanding, the easy alliance between women and cats - and the ambivalence with which society sometimes views it - is a central theme of "The Feline Mystique: On the Mysterious Connection Between Women and Cats" (St. Martin's Press, $22.95), a new book by Clea Simon.

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"What do we think of when we hear of that pairing, woman and cat, and why does it raise a sneer?" Simon asks. "We enjoy the comfort of the warm couch companions, the easy acceptance of the feline presence ... We admire their sensuality, their beauty, their seemingly intuitive and self-determined nature - all traits we would like to strengthen in ourselves."

In that respect, Simon's quirky little exploration of the feline- feminine bond could just as easily be titled "My Cat, Myself." It darts in and out of history, looking at perhaps the most mythologized pairing - witches and their "familiars" - and Simon even goes so far as to interview a few modern- day Wiccans to get their perspective.

Rewinding to ancient Egypt, where the cat was revered as a deity, she finds as good a reason as any why the cat fascinates in these magic-starved times: With their knowing eyes and otherwordly detachment, they suggest secrets kept and mysteries perpetuated.

Not all relationships, involving humans or animals or both, are healthy, and Simon isn't afraid to go there. Her visit with a cat "collector" - a woman who in her overboard empathy is arguably endangering her dozens of cats - reminds that there can be too much of a good thing. And Simon's own misgivings about declawing her cat Cyrus many years ago, when the operation was not presented as an amputation of a functioning digit as it is today, reminds us of how much we can grow in our understanding of our animals and ourselves.

"Dogs have owners. Cats have attendants," a friend tells Simon, and this is as good an explanation as any of the difference between dog people and cat people of either gender. As the author points out, dogs activate our extroversion: They bring us out into the world, acting as a bridge for interaction with others.

By contrast, she notes, cats trigger introspection. Though I'm an avowed dog person, I enjoy the company of cats for that very same reason: On any given day at about 4 o'clock, a nameless gray cat will materialize in my rose garden. He has turned down my offers of food, preferring, it seems, either my company or the untrimmed stand of catmint - or perhaps both.

When he arrives, all my weeding and digging and doing stop, and I take five well-earned moments just to be.

Cats like my nameless gray prompt an inward focus that our society doesn't necessarily associate with female roles. Perhaps that's why the "cat lady" jokes surface to begin with.

"Although we have been raised to be accommodating and flexible - to be 'nice' - we, too, often feel haughty and disdainful," Simon says about women in general. "We, too, often want to express, to borrow a lioness' word, our pride."

To that end, this book is a wonderful start.