You may have noticed the furry little face adorning my blog as of late. Here’s his story.

Kevin and I are both avid cat lovers, but for one reason or another (particularly that we have both worked full-time for eons and my spare energy’s been virtually nil for the latter portion of that span) we have never made a home for one of these lovely and personable creatures. Now that I’m not working, I have both time and energy to devote to the care and feeding of a kitten, making him comfortable and ultimately confident enough to withstand an 8 or so hour respite from human contact. Given the current economic situation - global, statewide and personal - it seems extravagant to yearn for a purebred. I know there are thousands of abandoned pets pouring into animal shelters right this moment, left by owners who are forced by adverse financial circumstances to relocate to less accomodating…accomodations? Anyway. Here’s my rationalization, judge it as you will.

The furry face in question is of the Ragdoll breed. These cats are described by their breeders as feline “couch potatoes”, “puppy-cats”, and homebodies in the extreme, therefore particularly suited to a strictly indoor existence. This, unfortunately, is not the case with most types of domestic cat, with their cunningly disguised but ever-lurking streak of wildness, constantly seeking an opportunity to escape to the jungle that lies outside the kitchen door. Alas, our jungle is of the concrete variety, a stone’s throw from a thoroughly high-traffic thoroughfare, with decorative but impractical fencing around our back yard. For the sake of a long and healthy life, then, we’ve agreed that any pet we choose to bring into our home will be resigned to never tasting of the tempting and (relatively) exotic elements of the Michigan outdoors. Hence the choice of the most domestic of domestic catdom, the Ragdoll.

Here I must make a confession. From my perspective, with the usual apologies to George Orwell, all cats are very beautiful, but some cats are more beautiful than others. Ragdolls, with their striking, deeply pigmented blue eyes and long, rabbit-soft fur, eminently satisfy my aesthetic palate. The breed gets its unusual appellation from the cat’s tendency to go limp, ostensibly with submissive delight in human contact, when lifted from the ground. It’s a strange trait to breed animals for, but there you are. This tendency does not appeal to me in particular. However, the highly sociable and markedly affectionate nature of the breed seems to me an investment of sorts in a fundamental kind of future happiness that gives, of its very nature, much more than the simple care and feeding it will receive as its due. You can say that of any pet, I imagine. But my understanding of cats in general dreads the nervous effects of perpetual confinement upon these born hunters-and-prowlers, and yet our current living accomodations demand nothing less. The Ragdoll, therefore, seems to be the ideal choice. And, apparently, I could use a little extra unconditional love just now.

So that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. We are to visit the photogenic one’s cattery home this afternoon, to see if the breed lives up to its press. Assuming we come away with either a kitten or the promise of one in the near future, expect pics of our new family member (and yes, I know cats are not people! Why should I want to diminish them with such a fatuous delusion?) to be prominently displayed in these pages.