We have a dog and two cats, all of whom came from our daughter, the veterinarian. The dog is a sweet and loveable beagle named Sophie Clueless, whom I have told you about in the past, and the cats are Phoebe, a Himalayan, and Oscar, a black and white of uncertain lineage.

I love to watch them. Especially Oscar, who owns the place. He walks with that fluid, effortless elegance of unfurling silk that my daughter calls “his studly saunter”. Each footfall is deliberate, never tentative, and leads me to be thankful that he is not 300 lbs., like some other members of the cat family. As I said, cats don’t rent, they own. And there is a certain attitude that tells me that they are not entirely tame.

Oscar tucks himself into the bushes under the bird feeder, where he crouches and stalks, but is usually spotted by the squirrels, who set up a noisy harangue, which irritates him. Lethally armed with teeth and claws, he is the perfect predator.

I once read a definition of the difference between dogs and cats. The dog says, “You love me, you feed me, you give me shelter, you must be God.” The cat says, “You love me, you feed me, you give me shelter, I must be God.”

Despite the difference in size, Oscar and the tiger unmistakably belong to the same clan – Filidae: cats. In 34 million years their basic structure hasn’t changed.

Other animals would never recognize their ancient ancestors. The 34 million-year-old Mesohippus, an archaic horse about the size of a Labrador retriever, three-toed with a short skull, looks nothing like today’s Queen’s Plate runner, or even an everyday nag. And us? Trace the lineage of man back 34 million years and you might be looking at an eight-pound, fruit-eating creature with monkey-like limbs and ape-like teeth.  Horses, humans and others had far to go before settling into their current form.

But the cat is one creature that nature seemed to get right the first time around. Other mammals came and went with changing climates and vegetation. Cats just sharpened their claws, fine-tuned their already athletic bodies, and snapped up whatever prey the next era offered. They became, as I said earlier, the perfect hunting machine.

Just how does the cat work? What have those millions of years of evolved and refined predator produced? No collarbones, so the front limbs are as flexible as spaghetti. Remarkably agile; three years ago a domestic cat fell 46 storeys out of a high-rise and broke only a tooth. A broad face and short jaw, giving a powerful bite.

What else? How about that keen sense of sight, and night vision six times as sensitive as ours? A fast flip when in free-fall, known as the “righting reflex”, helps the cat survive tumbles. When falling, a cat swiftly assumes an impact-resistant posture – toes spread, legs stretched and back arched, for softer touchdown.

No other animal rivets the human imagination as vividly as cats. There is a mixture of fear and respect. In Indian and African villages, just knowing a big cat is around sharpens perceptions. You are no longer dominant and you look at shadows differently.

The cult of the cat spans human history and geography. The Roman soldier, Marc Antony, drove a chariot pulled by Lions. The Hindu god Siva rides a tiger. And the South American Inca tell stories of the earth sailing through space on the back of a jaguar.

And, of course, there is the feline that you and I are most likely to meet, the house cat, an independent little panther. Beloved, if standoffish companion to millions the world over, the domestic cat came late in the evolutionary cycle but is now, in numbers, the aloof emperor of the cat world and accepting with cool grace, or even disdain, the pampering of owners.

If you were to ask me about dogs’ names I could give you a list of the 10 most, and least, popular currently registered at Toronto’s dog licensing department (Max is the most popular). But there is no such list for cats.

One reference, a bathroom book of unusual facts, tells me the most popular cat name is Samantha. I would guess that is for female cats. But who knows? Over the years of my pet owning, which is actually almost all my life, I have had cats with the following names: Mandy, Christine, Wallace, Chelsea, Smokey, Thumbs (She had an extra toe), Sin, Rinky-dink (named by my kids), Muggs, Marmalade, Oscar and Phoebe. My daughter Anne’s two cats are Ernie and Puddles, and Lisa, my veterinarian daughter’s cats’ names all end in “Puddy”, depending on their physical characteristics. For example, she has One-Eyed Puddy, Orange Puddy and Drunken Puddy (who was brain damaged from getting whacked by a car).

Cats may exasperate. They may not come when called. They may not eat when fed. They may shred the furniture. Ruin the rug. Tear the drapes. But still, there is that wonder of grace and power, and a sublime and sometimes terrible magic.

When they aren’t puking on the rug.

Categories: Appointment with Polhman, Columns
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