ANY DAY
By IN LA BY HEIDI MANTEUFFEL
A lot of normal people own cats, but the term “cat lady” didn’t evolve on its own. There are some special ladies in this world, and bless their hearts, they were all congregated at the Santa Monica Cat Show this month.
I know it’s terrible, but nearly every year now I head down Main Street mid- September to attend the Santa Monica Cat Show. But the reason why it’s reprehensible is because I don’t go to look at cats. I go to look at cat people.
Tell me you’ve never honestly been a voyeur in your life and I’ll buy you a candy bar. Because I don’t care who you are, there’s always something you like to look at. Pretty cars, high-heel shoes, random power tools or the cute man or woman in the mall, you inadvertently have your eye on something.
That’s why I spent $8 for parking and $8.50 for admission to look at cat people. But before I even entered the building, a whiff of kitty litter and aggregated cats wafted over as a forewarning of what was to come — 100 cats in mini condominiums.
If you’ve ever been to a cat show you know exactly what I’m talking about. The room is filled with 10 to 15 rows of tables with cats on display in plastic or clear net carrying bags. But most owners don’t leave it at that. They’ll stick feather boas over the top of the case or insert leopard carpeting on the carrying bag’s floor. Some women choose themes like “Proud to be an American,” and put stars and stripes over the cage. Others administer warning signs like “the cat might not bite, but the owner will.”
And that’s what I like to look at — the biting owners — because honestly they’re the real attraction of the cat show. You can spot them by their knee-high shorts, large print T-shirts (with cats), slightly odd disposition and unintentional retro haircuts. One woman literally had enough hair bunned off it look like she was carrying a beach ball on her head. Basically, imagine you’re in a room with a lot people who are really good at spelling.
Just like the movie, “Best in Show,” owners hold their busy bees and dangle shiny toys to make the bored animal look animated. Others watch with an eagle eye to make sure you don’t pet their pure-bred cat. My favorite are the men and no-nonsense women who gruffly push you out of the way to get their cat judging on time. “Cat coming through!” you’ll occasionally hear yelled as your elbow is braised.
Not to be mean people, but you got a 10-minute window … and it’s only a room away.
That’s one of my favorite parts — the judging of the cats. In a separate room, there’s about eight judging tables decorated in a luau theme with cat competitors, cat owners/lovers, and me. One by one, the judge takes a feline out of its cage and checks the cat’s coat, temperament, among other things. The judge slightly drops the cat to gauge its balance. Cat lovers ooh and aw over the feline’s agility and beauty. Owners cringe, biting their nails as they wait to see if their cat is awarded a ribbon. I sit, eating my Reeses Pieces, and watch.
While I was enjoying the scene, I started getting the remorse that comes with making fun of people, even though it was just in my head. Was it right that these cat ladies in their cat lady worlds were giving me so much entertainment?
Probably not, but as I watched my friends’ band “Aria Decline” play Friday night at the Malibu Inn, I couldn’t help but think this was yet another highly concentrated cross-section of culture. Instead of intense lovers of cats, you had your voyeurs of anything with the word “indie” attached. These people study up on pop culture mostly to make fun of it. They refuse to admit enjoying mainstream films but will rave about anything from Laemmle or NuWilshire without having seen it. Music is the same. Clothes cant’ be too bright, mass fabricated or from the Gap, but 20 girls wearing the same Idaho shirts from Urban is acceptable. When in doubt, making fun is always the better, safer choice.
The closer I looked at this “trendy” group, I realized the large majority of these kids were just as good of spellers as the cat ladies, but had hidden this identity under the “indie” banner. However, strip them of their clothes, movies, pop culture references and witty remarks, and you had some excellent spellbound candidates on your hands. The difference is, “indie” kids see their oddity as a catalyst to make them uniquely cool, while cat women demonstrate their differences unabashed. They love cats, and are willing to drive thousands of miles to put a kitty in a muffler outfit to show what they’re all about.
So as I sit here contemplating if I want to get “The Killers” or “Garden State” CD, I’m encouraged by cat women to be who I am, and let the world eat Reeses Pieces as I secretly enjoy finding the 10 permutations of vsaaeg. (Heidi is an advertising account executive, freelance writer and lover of pug dogs. To contact her, ).
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on September 28, 2004. Read the original PDF.