A catless writer is almost inconceivable. It's a perverse taste, really, since it would be easier to write with a herd of buffalo in the room than even one cat; they make nests in the notes and bite the end of the pen and walk on the typewriter keys.
A dog, I have always said, is prose; a cat is a poem.
A meow massages the heart.
After scolding one's cat one looks into its face and is seized by the ugly suspicion that it understood every word. And has filed it for reference.
An ordinary kitten will ask more questions than any five year old.
Although all cat games have their rules and rituals, these vary with the individual player. The cat, of course, never breaks a rule. If it does not follow precedent, that simply means it has created a new rule and it is up to you to learn it quickly if you want the game to continue.
As every cat owner knows, nobody owns a cat.
Authors like cats because they are such quiet, lovable, wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reasons.
By and large, people who enjoy teaching animals to roll over will find themselves happier with a dog
Cats have an infallible understanding of total concentration - and get between you and it.
A kitten is the most irresistible comedian in the world. Its wide-open eyes gleam with wonder and mirth. It darts madly at nothing at all, and then, as though suddenly checked in the pursuit, prances sideways on its hind legs with ridiculous agility and zeal.
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