Cat scratch fever

If in the not-so-recent past, someone suggested I would become a "cat person," I probably would have given them the thrashing of a lifetime. (If that remark had been made to me at a bar in Tennessee, I guess I could have just shot 'em—thanks Tennessee Legislature.) That being said, I must now eat crow and apologize to my male friends whom I berated and emasculated for years about being cat owners. To avoid outing or potentially embarrassing them, I will leave out their names, but for the sake of this story, we'll just call them Joel Sullivan. (Hey Joel, you made Nfocus!)

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Here, let me state for the record that I have had several dogs and will probably have more. My goddog Icarus is terrorizing water fowl in the Hamptons as I write. However, I've recently converted to the dark side. The history of my recent conversion involves the potential purchase of a dog.

Last summer, in an attempt to have a relaxing vacation and whine-free car trip, we told the children, who had been clamoring for a canine companion, that "if they were very good during the annual pilgrimage to Nantucket, upon return to BNA, we would, in fact, get a puppy."

The plan worked until the following key facts were divulged. On the 1,171-mile SUV/ 31-mile Steamship return trip, the care of the aforementioned pup was discussed at length. When questions like, "who will walk, feed, and clean up for said pup" arose, the children's replies were a unanimous "not me." Hmmm. Neither my wife nor I looked forward to any of those daily activities. So, upon return to Music City, when the question of when we would be getting a puppy came up, I had no choice but to say, "Honestly kids, we would, but you really weren't that good. Sorry."

Hence the cat. We adopted Bonnie (no, not short for Bonnaroo, silly Trustifarians) in mid-December as an early Christmas gift. I hadn't realized that one could train a cat. For years, I have thought that cats must be smarter than dogs, as cats don't listen to humans, but Bonnie soon proved to me that they're not only smarter, but they do listen. I was also told (and believed) that "dogs have owners, and cats have staff." This is true.

Within weeks of entry into Club Dread, Bonnie, who came to the manse at only 11 weeks old and was already housebroken, quickly picked up tricks faster than any dog. I taught Bonnie—on command—to sit, come, roll-over and fetch. Yes, like a German Shepherd with a slobbery tennis ball at the beach, Bonnie fetches felt mice and returns them to our feet, only stopping when we are exhausted. Quite amazing to watch, really.

She walks on a leash, wearing a harness, and stops and digs if nature calls while canvassing the back forty. Occasionally, Bonnie nips at the wife's derriere, should she get too close while we play (an added bonus that she taught herself). Unlike dogs or children, cats groom themselves and sleep up to 18 hours a day (something else we have in common). If you get a short-hair, they don't really shed either—something I wish I could stop doing.

Upon returning home from work, I am greeted by a pet who rushes down the stairs to greet me, rubbing noses as she sticks her head through the banister without getting it stuck—like a dog or baby probably would.

And the tricks don't end there. In addition to the bonus of not having to get up at God-knows-what-hour to walk a dog, most cats use a litter box. Bonnie, however, does not. We have trained her to use an actual human toilet. Yes, this can be done, and we did it in only eight short weeks. Go ahead and Google it if you must. Here's a tip: Do not, repeat, do not teach them to flush unless you want your water bill to be higher than Al Gore's Belle Meade electric bill. Back to Bonnie. In addition to no-ugh-walking, now we neither have to purchase kitty litter nor maintain a litter box. Beat that!

Now, to end another myth. Cats can and do travel well. Young Bonnie loves nothing more than a ride in the car where she sticks her face out the window like any mutt, her whiskers blowing in the breeze. She wears a harness on our outings and has never tried to jump. Her favorite stops are the neighborhood Ace Hardware where she captains a cart from the bow and Harpeth Valley Animal Hospital where she goes for her monthly mani-pedi. Sometimes she boards there and they treat her like a queen, which every cat wants, of course. Not unlike the old Bull & Finch in Beantown (aka Cheers), "sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name," and the vets and techs there love her and it shows.

Cats are also better on long car trips than dogs and children. Seriously. They can "hold it" for countless hours and don't pant. They don't fight over the DVD player. They are even fun at the beach. This summer, Bonnie has hung out at 40th Pole—one of Nantucket's best secret beaches. In addition to keeping mosquitoes and green-head flies away (God help them if she catches them), she also guards the bar housed in the tailgate when she takes a break from the sand and surf. Bonnie held her own in the annual Fourth of July festivities on Main Street, "riding" in a patriotic top hat, remaining calm while being photographed by the paparazzi. She posed for the cameras and even behaved while being shot for Plum TV, the resort channel. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it either. For the lazy man, this is the pet to have.