Monday 23rd July 2007
This weekend I spent the weekend at the cat show (meow). For those not in the know, a cat show consists of tons and tons of kitties in cages being let out every so often to have a judge (often eccentric and passionate and dressed in a vest with cat pictures all over it) check to see if their, for example, fur is the right colour, their tail is suitably tapered and their nose is in good shape. The cats were well-tempered about it all, and seemed less catty than some of their owners (e.g. the old woman who got cranky with the judge who looked like one of The Golden Girls due to a comment about a cat’s eyes being open too wide, a woman who was so cranky with the “rude” general public that she wished one cat had bit a particular woman, but then thought not because the cat might have caught rabies from particular woman and the female “who wouldn’t trust her if she paid me, and I don’t want a longhair anyway”). Lots of women at the cat show, as you can tell. It was quite amusing to watch the thin lipped and tense owner of one pair of non-moggies actually crack a smile or two as her cats gathered lots of ribbons. During the final process one of the international judges got bit by a shirty Siamese, but the Siamese still, errr, walked away with a big prize and a pink kennel, a pink litter tray and some food. Best in Show went to the most adorable British Blue Shorthair ever, but the one that touched everyone’s heart was the Best Domestic (or Companion) who was a gorgeous milk chocolate puss with a cream Salvador Dali mo. It’s owner started crying and crying. It seems that puss was rescued from a very abusive home, and now he’s a *star* (or at least he’s got a ribbon, a pink kennel and a pink litter tray). There’s hope for Jess yet.