CAPITAL CAT

Jefferson and the Cherry Blossoms

Thomas Jefferson was an intellectual who loved reading and studying the wisdom of many nations. Out of this study came firm beliefs in liberty against the power of the sovereign, equal rights, democracy, education available to all, freedom of religion, and separation between church and state. This thinking comes to life in document he is most famous for, the Declaration of Independence. Jefferson gave form to the blossoming nation searching for its identity.

President Franklin Roosevelt felt that a person of such magnitude deserved a memorial, similar to the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. In 1934 he established a commission to select a designer and location for this tribute to Jefferson. Two years later the commission chose a design by John Russell Pope who had opted for a neo-classical dome with a portico based on the Pantheon in Rome. It is no coincidence that this is the same model Jefferson used for the rotunda on the campus of the University of Virginia. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Crews began construction in 1939, with the memorial dedication held April 13, 1943, the 200th anniversary of Jefferson’s birth. Designed by DC-born sculptor Rudolph Evans, the 19 foot bronze statue, first constructed out of plaster, because metal was being rationed during the Second World War, depicts Jefferson addressing the Continental Congress. He holds a copy of the Declaration of Independence in his left hand and wears a fur cloak given to him by Polish General Tadeus Kosciuszko, who had come to America as a volunteer in the Revolutionary War. The interior walls of the memorial are engraved with inscriptions taken from the Declaration of Independence and Jefferson's other writings.

Among his numerous services to the U.S., Jefferson counted ambassador to France from 1785-1789, George Washington’s Secretary of State, and John Adams’ Vice President. Even though he was President from 1801-1809, Jefferson did not count that as one of his greatest achievements. (His gravestone doesn’t even mention that he was President of the United States.) Instead that accolade goes to his founding of the University of Virginia, in Charlottesville.

The founding of this university is a testament to Jefferson's intellect and broad skills - architect, writer, musician, scientist, inventor and fluent in five languages. He was a horticulturalist, introducing tomatoes and broccoli to Virginia, as well as being its first vintner.

President John F. Kennedy, upon receiving 49 Nobel Prize winners at the White House, said, “I think this is the most extraordinary collection of talent and of human knowledge that has ever been gathered together at the White House – with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined alone."

The Jefferson Memorial sits at the south end of the Tidal Basin in direct view of the White House as Franklin Roosevelt had wished. Jefferson’s statue seems to be returning the favor, standing with a stern gaze toward the White House, as if watching that the president doesn’t forget that the office-holder is the servant of the people.

Surrounding the Tidal Basin, cherry blossom trees are Washington's spring "welcome mat". In 1912 the city of Tokyo gifted 3,000 trees to the city of Washington as a gesture of friendship from Japan. In a simple ceremony on March 27 of that year, First Lady Helen Taft and Viscountess Chinda, wife of the Japanese ambassador, planted the first two trees on the north bank of the Tidal Basin. (In 1915, the United States government reciprocated with a gift of flowering dogwood trees to the people of Japan.)

First Lady Lady Bird Johnson accepted 3,800 more trees in 1965. And in 1981, the cycle of giving came full circle. We gave Japanese horticulturists cuttings from our trees to replace some cherry trees in Japan which had been destroyed in a flood.

Each year from the last week in March through the first two weeks in April, these gnarly trees create a necklace of delicate pastel pink and white blossoms around the Basin. During this time the Cherry Blossom Festival is held to herald the coming of spring, attracting over one million visitors.

A Stop at the White House

It being the month we celebrate Presidents Day, I thought a tour of the President's House would be in order.

A competition held for the design of the new President's House received nine entries. James Hoban, an architect of Irish descent, won. His neo-classical design is based on the Leinster House in Dublin, the building that houses the national parliament of Ireland.

Construction started in 1792. In 1798, after receiving a protective lime-based whitewash, the President’s House took on its distinctive color. In 1800, President John Adams moved into the nearly completed building, Each President since then has lived in the President’s House.

In 1814, British troops invaded Washington and torched several buildings, among them the Capitol, the Treasury, the War Department and the President’s House. President James Madison decided that the public buildings would be rebuilt, with Irish architect, James Hoban, taking on the responsibility for the President’s House, almost a total rebuild since only the outer walls were still standing after the fire. Hoban stuck with the original plans for the renovation.

For the first 100 years this home of the President was called in addition to the “President's House”, the “President's Palace” or “Executive Mansion”. The nickname “White House” caught on late in the 19th Century with President Theodore Roosevelt making it the official name when he took office in 1901.

Modified and extended numerous times, the White House is now a complex of office, reception and residential space. The East and West Wings serve as the most important additions, providing the President (West) and First Lady (East) offices away from the residence. The West Wing center is the Oval Office, the President’s main office, with key advisors’ offices within a few steps. The “Oval” is modeled on the “Blue Room”, the central and most famous façade on the south side of the White House. 

The White House has 132 rooms, with a few available to visitors on tours. Since Sept. 11, 2001, any tour needs to be arranged through Congress. Some of the rooms open for tours include the Green Room, Blue Room, Red Room and State Dining Room.

John Adams planted the first White House garden. Andrew Jackson planted the two magnolia trees that today frame the exterior wall of the oval Blue Room.

Over the years many of the presidents and first ladies have redesigned the garden. Ellen Wilson, wife of President Woodrow Wilson added the most famous section in 1913…the Rose Garden, just outside the Oval Office. John F. Kennedy later redesigned it and used it as a venue for official ceremonies. In 2009, Michelle Obama planted an organic garden just off the South Lawn.

Dwight D. Eisenhower, an avid golfer, installed a putting green in 1957 and it’s been enjoyed by avid “first golfers” since.

The White House is the center of power in Washington. When cats have roamed these halls they knew who was really in charge. Look below at the names of the cats that have graced this mansion and the Presidents they exercised their power over:

Tabby – The first White House cat – Abraham Lincoln

Siam – The first Siamese to reach the United States – Rutherford B. Hayes

Slippers and Tom Quartz – Theodore Roosevelt

Smokey, Blackie, Timmy & Tiger – Calvin Coolidge (He carried Tiger around his neck.)

Tom Kitten – The press gave him an obituary notice in 1962 – John F. Kennedy

Shan – Gerald Ford

Misty Malarky Ying Yang – A Siamese – Jimmy Carter

Cleo & Sara – Tortoiseshell strays (also several unnamed cats) – Ronald Reagan

Socks – a black and white “Tuxedo”, unceremoniously removed when Buddy, the dog, moved in – Bill Clinton

Ernie & India "Willie" Bush – George W. Bush

My Visit to Capitol Hill

President George Washington had expected Pierre Charles L'Enfant to design the Capitol, but dismissed L’Enfant in 1792 for refusing to cooperate with the Commissioners of the Federal Buildings. Thomas Jefferson, then Secretary of State, suggested a competition for the best plan for the building with a $500 award and a city lot. Washington rejected 17 proposals. Then a letter arrived from Dr. William Thornton, a Scottish physician, with a plan that Washington and the Commissioners accepted.

Construction began in 1793. Over the years, eight separate architects have supervised the Capitol’s construction. Until 1800 three architects in succession managed the construction. The first two were dismissed and James Hoban, the architect of the President’s house, built the North wing in time for the first session of Congress.

In 1803 Benjamin Latrobe assumed the role as Architect of the Capitol and resumed construction, completing the South and North wings and connecting them with a wooden passage in 1813. A year later the British set fire to the building and only a rain storm prevented it from being totally destroyed. Latrobe returned in 1815 to repair the Capitol.

During this reconstruction, he made some significant changes including adding marble to the interior. In 1818 Boston architect Charles Bullfinch replaced Latrobe who had resigned. Bullfinch readied the Senate and House Chambers and the Supreme Court for use by 1819. He also increased the size of the central dome constructing it with wood covered by copper.

As the number of Congress members increased over the years, the building has had to undergo a number of additions. Beginning in 1850 Philadelphia architect Thomas U. Walter supervised the building of the extensions that comprise the current Senate and House chambers, replacing the existing sandstone exterior with marble. These extensions dwarfed the original dome. Walter drew a design for a new dome and after members of Congress saw this drawing, they unanimously approved. Within 10 weeks the House appropriated $100,000 for the dome and President Franklin Pierce signed it into legislation in March, 1855.

This cast-iron, fireproof dome is the most recognizable piece of architecture in the nation’s capital. It rises 288 feet and is crowned by the 20 foot tall Statue of Freedom. The interior of the dome is the “Rotunda” where massive paintings cover the walls, and statues of Presidents surround the perimeter. The ceiling of the dome is noted for the singular fresco titled the Apotheosis of Washington, painted by Italian artist, Constantino Brumidi. It is noted as the one painting that attempts to deify our first President. The fresco covers 4,600 square feet and is 180 feet above the Rotunda floor. Below this painting at the base of the dome is the Frieze of American History, depicting the story of the U.S. from the landing of Christopher Columbus through to the Wright brothers’ flight in Kitty Hawk.

Even though construction on the Capitol halted in 1861 as it became a Civil War hospital, barracks and bakery, construction of the dome continued. Declaring that the Capitol must, like the Union, go on, President Lincoln ordered the resumption of construction in 1862. December 2, 1863 marked the day of placing the final section of Statue of Freedom. In January 1866 the scaffolding was removed to reveal the Apotheosis fresco.

Though officially “completed” in 1868, the U.S. Capitol seems to be a constant work-in-progress. Additions to the Capitol since 1868 include the marble west front terraces (1884-1892) and the east front extension (1958-1962). During this renovation the east front was moved out 34 feet, and the original Corinthian columns removed and replaced. Designer Russell Page found a suitable new location for these columns. They now stand in a meadow at the National Arboretum towering over a reflecting pool.

It took a vote in Congress in 1970 to stop a renovation of the west front. Most recently, after breaking ground in 2000 the new Visitors’ Center opened in 2008.

The National Parks Service declared the Capitol a National Historic Landmark in 1960. The American Institute of Architects has ranked it 6th in its survey “America’s Favorite Architecture”.

When the Senate and/or House are in session, flags fly on the roofs above their chambers. The special phrase that describes how our elected officials conduct themselves when is session is "it's like herding cats". As far as I'm concerned that's, like, impossible.

Kitty Doesn't Feel Well

What a summer I've had -- and I don't mean that in a good way! The last six weeks, and that's not in "cat time", crawled by like it was six years. As of today, I have a rectangular bare patch on my stomach the size of a paperback novel; in the middle of that I have a five inch long scar; my left rear paw has a scab on it that I'm not allowed to wash; all night and much of the day I have to wear a big plastic ring around my neck - I look like I'm wearing a satellite dish!! If I didn't have my CATTITUDE, I'd probably have a complex by now. How did all this happen, you ask? Let's go back to the middle of July.

That's when I began feeling a little ill. I would wake up in the middle of the night, feeling like my tummy was tied up in knots, and going to the kitty litter was not pretty. The worried look on my female human's face didn't help matters. She worries at the best of times, but I could tell my situation had ratcheted up the concern. After a few days of this, I was quietly lying on my stomach, feet curled up under me in my "relieve the pressure" crouch, when out of the blue she swooped me up and slipped me into the claustrophobic contraption they call a carrier. To my horror we went to the VET!, where hiding behind sweet talk and smiling faces, they poked, prodded and stabbed every inch of my body. Usually, after those annoying activities I am allowed to dart into my carrier to await the ride home. Not this time. One of the doctors picked me up and whisked me through another door. The wide-eyed painful look on my human that I glimpsed just beforE the door closed, told me this time, things were different.

Next thing I remember is waking up and feeling wonky, with my belly shaved and a strange itchy feeling along the red mark in the middle of it. Things seemed to be dancing around me, and when I stood up I tottered over as I tried to walk. To top it all off my left rear leg wouldn't hold me up. When I put weight on it, the paw bent under and didn't have enough strength. So I limped. You can imagine how painful and mortifying this has all been. After I came home, the humans tried me on some new food and a nasty tasting medication. I made short work of that, bringing it back up almost as soon as it went down. That regimen stopped, except for a pill I had to take for two weeks to prevent infections.

Which brings me to my left rear paw. It got infected and naturally I started to wash it. Well, apparently that wasn't helpful. The fur between two toes disappeared. The toes turned red and one of them scabbed over. Hence, the satellite dish thing. It does stop me from licking the paw, but I walk like a cow with it on. And sleeping is way uncomfortable. 

This whole sick thing has put a real damper on my cat-ability. With a bum leg I can't jump as well as I used to, and worst of all, chasing my room-cats has been greatly curtailed. And my humans are, like, stalking me, following me everywhere to, as they say, "keep an eye on him." 

Yes, the summer has been trying, but I feel like I'm on the road to recovery - the leg is a little better each day and I'm slowly growing fur on that big hole on my tummy. All I know is next time the humans try to put me in that contraption they carry me to the vet in, they had better be prepared for a fight.

I'll keep you posted on progress.

A Capital Cat Remembrance

Eight years ago on Sept. 11, I was living in the California sunshine when the skies went silent. Used to gazing up and watching the white contrails of jets flying over our house, I knew for the next fews days that when they had disappeared that something was terribly wrong. I heard about the tragedy of the airplanes flying into buildings in New York and Washington. I felt like curling up into a tiny ball of fur and hiding.

Today I live in Washington. I have seen the scars on the Pentagon and the massive hole in the ground in New York City. I remember at that time how we all drew together with a common compassion for the thousands who perished and their families, and for a common belief that such horror would cause us to demonstrate the better sides of our nature and not lower ourselves to the level of those out to destroy our lives. And I hope that we haven't lost that drive.

Over the years I've been asked what cattitude means. It has a lot to do with the spirit that makes our country great. Cattitude is independence and freedom to be who we wish; it's self-sufficiency and a drive to have a life filled with wonder, curiosity and excitement. Cattitude is also kitties sharing our experiences among our fellows, and cozying up with another cat for some affectionate washing and napping. It's appreciating each other's space, while at the same time knowing the happiness of companionship.

As we should never forget the awful events of 9/11/01, we should also never forget our "cattitude".

A D.C. Neighborhood With CATtitude!

A little while ago my female human volunteered for the open house tour of Capitol Hill. This is one totally cat-like DC neighborhood! It suits the sophisticated Russian Blue and the wily feral cat equally. Whether savoring the tasty morsels stacked on the carts at Eastern Market or curling up in the warmth of a bay window overlooking Marion Park or prowling the quiet side streets of Lincoln Park, we cats love the Hill.

Many have asked me, "What gives a place cattitude?" My answer is, the place has many hidden layers, and is more than what appears before your eyes. Capitol Hill is a purrfect example. Before it assumed its famous name, it had another--Jenkins Hill. Being a naturally curious creature, I was intrigued when I heard this other name. Here's what I found after some sleuthing.

Apparently, the first known use of the name Jenkins Hill was by Pierre Charles L'Enfant, the "designer" of the District. As he was mapping out the area from Anacostia River to Tiber Creek he wrote "so much as included Jenkin's Hill" (L'Enfant added the apostrophe) "and all the water course from round Carroll point up to the Ferry Landing." L'Enfant especially like the vista at the western end of the hill for the new Capitol building, which he called "a pedestal waiting for a superstructure."

Carroll point refers to a man named Daniel Carroll the owner of this "pedestal", who gifted this piece of land to the government around 1791. A fellow named Thomas Jenkins owned fifty-four acres of the hill for about eight months from October 1790 to June 1791, about a mile east of where the Capitol now stands. It is likely that when L'Enfant was mapping out the territory he met Jenkins, since the water course L'Enfant referred to went directly through Jenkins land. Not much more is known about Thomas Jenkins, except he owned some property in northwest Washington where he had a small apple orchard, and that he was the owner of slaves. It was simply a stroke of luck for Jenkins that after an encounter with L'Enfant that his name became the name of what is now called Capitol Hill.

In 1952 the name Jenkins Hill was given further legitimacy, when a member of the Army Corps of Engineers, Arthur Cutter, drew a map of Capitol Hill called "View of the City of Washington 1792" that was intended to capture the "sense of the style and feeling of late eighteenth-century cartography." At the center of the map, where the Capitol building stands, Mr. Cutter drew some circles inside which he wrote "Jenkins Hill".

And so, Mr. Jenkins, who owned a tiny piece of property for a short time, has a chance encounter with the most famous architect in the country's history who then uses the Jenkins name to identify a plot of land the architect is considering for the most prominent building in the United States. An opportune moment means Jenkins, a minor character in the story of D.C., is immortalized.

(Quoted sections of this article are from an essay by John Michael Vlach, a professor of American Studies and Anthropology and director of the Folklife Program at The George Washington University.
Go to: http://www.capitolhillhistory.org/library/04/Jenkins%20Hill.html)

If you're wondering what it's like to be a Capital Cat and would like to see how I fit into the ambiance of Capitol Hill, pop by the Cosi at the corner of Penn and 3rd SE. The cool and wise folks at this Cosi are displaying my "CATtitude means..." portraits up on the second floor. Drop by and check me out. I am very witty and very wise about the famous buildings of our Nation's capital!! One example...

 

My Morning Ritual

Hey you...human...time to wakey, wakey. My stomach is calling and you are going to answer. Yeah, yeah I know, it's still dark out...what, you think I care about what the stupid clock says?? You know this is what happens every day at this time. My tummy's growling and it's been, speaking of clocks, seven or eight hours since I last ate. You know how long that is in cat time??

Oh jeez...he snorted again. Do these humans have any idea what they sound like when they're asleep? Here let me give you a little nudge on that breezy nose of yours. Sounds like a buzz saw up there. Okay, here we go, a couple of light taps on the old schnozzolla and a little drag against the cheek.

Hah...that woke you up. Stop faking it. I'm sitting here on your chest watching. You know that in the dark I can see, like, 20 times better than you. And I can see those eyelashes of yours fluttering. Want me to tap your cheek again? Like this? Because I like you, I'm keeping my claws retracted. Isn't it great how we can do that? It's an evolutionary thing, you know. So that we can slip through the jungle quiet-like and not get our toes tangled up in the undergrowth. Lucky you or I might leave a few little red scratch marks.

Hey...stop pushing me away. Wait a second! That proves you're awake. All right, all right, I'll get off your chest. But, I'm still not going away. Or...maybe. I've got an idea. Those drawers on the bedside table, wonder what trouble I can get into with those. I'm pretty clever with my paws.

Yup, that top drawer slid out like it was greased. Let's see what's in here I can make noise with. Ooh, perfect some coins. If only you'd open your eyes, you could see me reach in and scrape them across the drawer. Must be a dozen in here. Now...let's scrape them back. Hey, what's this? A pair of glasses, excellent, grab the arm with that toe, easy, pull it this way, good, now up the side of the drawer, almost at the top, and there they go...clacking on the top of the radio. What's your problem, human? STOP pushing me!

Oh yeah, you think closing the drawer will make the least bit of difference? I'll just open the bottom one like this and...wow look at those wires. Get that paw in there, stir them up. That'll tangle them into dozens of knots. Will you STOP PUSHING ME! It only proves you're awake, lying there with your eyelids squeezed shut. You can't fool me. Okay, if you're not going to get up, it's time to pull out the artillery. Yes, in the kitchen. Oh don't worry, I'll be back if this doesn't work.

Here I go, pad across the kitchen floor, then l..e..a..p up to the counter. There's my target on the stove, the pepper grinder. All glass and weighs a ton. I know that you know what I'm going to do, so you can stop me anytime simply by getting out of bed and following me in here. Last chance...reach out...paw on the top...pull it a little harder, and...wow is that loud, or what?!

What did you call me? I'm coming back.

I don't believe it, even that didn't get you up? What is it with you? You know it's useless to pull the blanket over your head. I'll just plop down on your chest again, grasp it with my retractable claws and pull it.

See, the harder you pull back the more awake you become. Stop trying to fight it. I've got persistence on my side. And I know that noise box on the floor is going to start talking in a minute...then what? You're going to get up anyway, why prolong the inevitable?

Why not just listen to me and take away all that annoyance? You only saved half an hour and you were barely asleep all that time. And I would've stopped bugging you a lot sooner. So move it pal.

It's time to eat!!!

An Embassy Tour

Another reason I love D.C. is how international it is. You get cats from all over the world here. And all the different languages; who knows what some of these people are saying. It's like when I was at the shelter and all the types of kitties who lived there with exotic names--Siamese, Persian, Egyptian, Russian, Calico (not a country I know, but I like to say that word--Calico). Once each spring the humans from around the world like to show off the buildings in D.C. where they work...called Embassies. They open them up to visitors for two weekends, and we were able to go on the second one. The weather was purrfect on Saturday. That was good because these humans will stand and wait up to an hour to go inside an embassy. We got started late so had to decide which we would visit out of about 24.

First stop, the United Kingdom embassy has a huge property with a terrific garden. Out front is this massive statue of a stern looking guy with a hand raised and two fingers making a V sign, and the other holding a cane and a cigar. The plaque says Winston Churchill, who I guess is some famous Brit. There're a lot of humans in line, but it moves quickly and the security guys at the entrance are cheerful and have those fun British accents. We get inside and are offered a tote bag in exchange for a plastic bag. My humans have stopped using plastic so we don't get a tote. Then it's on up the hill to the garden. On the way we glance up at the building, it must have hundreds of rooms and is three stories tall. The gardens are spread out in four sections with the rose garden the most impressive, except it's too early for the roses, though we get a glimpse of a couple, a brilliant yellow one and a deep red one. In the middle of the path is a fat dog lying fast asleep and ignoring all the activity around it. Lazy mutt!

The nice people are giving out pins with the UK and USA flags on it as we leave.

Next stop is down the road then up a hill...to the Danish Embassy. My male human's ancestors came from Denmark so he wants to see the place. A lot fewer humans are here and it's less majestic, but the Danes are nice enough, supposedly the happiest people on the Earth, lucky them. They are proud of something they call renewable energy and my humans chat with a woman for a bit learning how the Danes are very efficient. I can relate to that, they must have picked this trait up from a cat! There is no great garden here, but they are offering tours of the embassy. And some guy is riding a bicycle obstacle course. Danes it appears ride bikes all the time.

That about covers this embassy, so we walk down the hill and decide to visit the Irish Embassy, ten blocks away. I'm not too keen on this much walking, but the humans seem okay with it. Hundreds of other humans are on the sidewalks walking or waiting in front of buildings as we stroll past. We get to the Irish Embassy and see the line of humans stretches waaaay down the sidewalk. Now, if I had any say in this, I'd vote to not wait. But I don't and we do. This is the middle of the day and the sun is beating down. I need some shade to stay cool. Thankfully there are trees along the way to provide some. After 40 minutes we get to the door. This embassy is part of a row of houses and, while it's three stories tall, it is about one fifth as wide as the UK building. We're in and the nice lady with another great accent (where do these people learn to talk like that) hands us a green tote bag. We go right up a narrow staircase and into a room with maybe 50 humans crammed in together and in line for some tables of food. It's pretty enough inside - the walls are decorated with Wedgwood designs and there is a bust of someone named Oscar Wilde. But not any kitten pictures...hmmm. They must clean out the place of knickknacks and stuff before all the tourists arrive. By the time we get to the food, there are a few crackers left. I figure the best food was gobbled up ages before we got there. A pretty lady is playing the harp in one corner and we do a short tour through a couple of rooms.

Then we head down the stairs and out the door. Outside across the street the Greek Embassy has young dancers entertaining the humans waiting. I figure that they must be getting tired after six hours of keeping visitors smiling. We walk back to the car past the Netherlands Embassy's long line and decide to call it a day. That's what happens when you get started late. All in all, just the human watching makes the tour worthwhile.

Now, my female human asks, "How do we get invited when the embassy is having a real party? Hmmm, maybe tell them you have a cat. That always impresses me!

How I Found My Home

As a baby kitten I lived in a shelter, in a cage with the bars too close together for even a tiny furball like me to squeeze through. My cage was identical to the dozens and dozens stacked on top of each other, row upon row. In each was one kitten. I could see into a few across from me...there was a pointy-eared Siamese with a voice that shrieked each time a human walked by... next to that was a one with long hair in patches of black, brown and white, with one patch on its nose that looked like a chocolate chip just out of reach of her tongue. On the other side of the Siamese was a smokey grey  Persian with its nose pushed flat between its mouth and eyes. It sat up a lot, turning its head left and right each time it heard a noise. At night when the room was completely dark, sometimes I would lie awake and all I could hear was a chorus of soft breathing, with the occasional minor key squeak echoing in the darkness.

Two events would regularly raise the level of cries. The first when food was served. I knew when this was happening because as soon as the aroma hit my nose, my ears would start twitching and I could feel the meows rise in my throat and then escape past my little pink tongue. The sound of kitten cries would fill the room and then quiet down row by row as the humans ladled the tasty crunchies into each of our bowls.

The other event would be when some other humans came through the room and chose kitties to take home. Each time someone would walk into our room, I sat up, alert and watchful. These humans normally came in pairs and it was the female who became my target. She was always the one whose eyes misted over, cheeks glowed and a tiny sound, like a kitten's squeak, popped from her lips.

I wasted no time learning how to melt the heart of a female human. One day I heard voices just outside our chamber. The door opened and countless pairs of ears and tiny voices perked up. Mewing in my most pathetic voice, which by the way was fairly well developed considering I would fit easily in the pocket of a raincoat, I sought to nab the heart of the female to get her and her partner to peek inside my cage as they walked past.

I turned on my full act. Raising the level and frequency of my cries, I concentrated on becoming the sole focus of the female's attention. Curling my paws around the bars of my cage, I began to swat as if at a fly. The female cried out, "Oh, isn't that the cutest thing you've ever seen?"

I paused. With a magnetic stare, I locked in on her blue eyes. I tilted my head just a touch and then I sealed the deal. I flopped over on my side and stuck my forepaws through the bars. As she approached I rolled on my back, keeping my liquid green eyes on her all the time, repeating my squeaky meows to draw her nearer. She moved to the cage to reach out for me.

Her hand touched my paw. I whipped it playfully back and forth, careful to graze her fingertips each time. She melted. The tear in her eye said it all. At that moment I had my ticket out of there. As she gathered me in her arms, I emitted a series of purrs that seemed to vibrate the whole building.

There are hundreds of shelter kittens and cats waiting for a loving home. I have it on good authority that the shelters in the DC area are wonderful caretakers and want all of these shelters animals to find good homes. A few of the rescue agencies are The Washington Humane Society, Washington Animal Rescue League, Montgomery County Maryland Humane Society, Partnership in Animal Welfare and Northern Virginia Animal Rescue League. Look at these two Web sites also for more shelters in the DC region ...Metropets or Lucky and Shelby.

So, kitties, go for it. Give them your most lovable stare, with eyes as big as saucers. Cry with dramatic pathos. Bat at and play with the fingers touching your cage. Your reward will be a home you can call your own.

Humans, you go for it too!! Your reward is a life of warm companionship.

To Catch a Fly

A couple of days ago, I took on a fly in a battle to the finish-as the Spanish might say "gato a mosca". Normally my day doesn't include a tussle with a fly, but as the spring weather gets nicer and my humans spend time on the deck doing something called gardening, the wildlife gets more diverse and daring. During the winter, I often come up against a spider, but they are sly creatures. A spider can dart into the tiniest crack and then while I stare in after it, the little monster stares right back with its eight eyes, content in knowing I have no chance to reach in after it. A fly is a totally different challenge.

My female human had been puttering around on the deck planting flowers. I had carefully watched her being occupied by this odd procedure which she apparently enjoys. The activity puzzles me, transferring the plants from one pot to another. Why not let them stay where they are?

She came into the house one time to fill the watering can and suddenly cried out, "I let a fly in!", to my male human apparently expecting him to do something about that. I stayed out of it, lying on the carpet letting the sun warm my furry little belly. Then the buzzing started, and the popping sound as the fly bashed itself against the window.

I couldn't resist. The fly was in constant frantic motion, whipping through the air, letting out an irritating monotone buzzing noise and frequently bouncing off windows. In fairness, I'm sure it thought that the great outdoors was within easy reach and didn't realize that an invisible barrier barred its flight to freedom. So as I watched it buzzing and bouncing, buzzing and bouncing, I prepared to make my move. The fly swooped low over my head and I pounced, missing it by a whisker. It then zipped around the corner and into the bedroom. In a flash I was there after it, but the bug darted into the bathroom. That's where my male human was, having just finished showering.

I just had time to dart into the bathroom when he whipped the door shut. I hopped onto the side of the bathtub as he grabbed a towel. Crouched in my spot, ready to launch after the fly should it dart by me again, I watched my human tense, holding the towel in both hands waiting, watching and listening for the fly. It continued to speed around the room, buzzing and bouncing off the mirrors, seemingly inexhaustibly. My human swung the towel around futilely two or three times, then the opportunity opened up. The fly had lit upon a mirror, maybe to take a breath (if that's what flies do), and my human made his move. With one final smack the stunned insect tumbled to the bottom of the tub. Before I could react and claim the prize, he picked it up and sent it swirling down the toilet.

We had prevailed with my clever maneuvering of the fly into the bathroom and his quick reflexes. A fine team effort, for which I was rewarded with a treat called "Pounce", very appropriately named don't you think?