An Interview With My Cat

After months of phone tag with publicists and personal assistants, I received the voice mail I was waiting for: my three year old black cat Cocoa Puff was going to grant me the interview. I allowed myself to celebrate this formidable victory with a half serving of white cheddar popcorn, knowing full well that the real triumph would be to find myself actually conducting the interview.

I was right to be skeptical. For another month I played her game, rescheduling only to reschedule again. Then I nearly blew the entire deal when, in haste, I purchased a one pound bag of store brand cat food. The damage was nearly irreparable. But I persevered, and following an extended session of neck-scratching I was sitting, laptop in lap, face to face with Ms. Puff.

JoshWay: Cocoa Puff. A pleasure.

Cocoa Puff: (looks lazily out window) Indeed.

JW: Cocoa, let’s start with the name. Why “Cocoa Puff?”

CP: (slowly, deliberately) Well, basically, I suppose it’s because you’re a pretentious cretin whose lack of foresight bestowed an adult cat with the name of a breakfast cereal. I bet that one was real cute for about three weeks when I was a kitten, right?

JW: I want to talk now about your…

Cocoa Puff walks away into an adjacent room where she begins to scrape grit off of her paw against the base of a glass oil lamp. She then proceeds to take a nap. After twenty-eight minutes she returns. 

JW: I want to talk now about your origins. You were adopted from the North Rockland Animal Shelter. Any memories prior to that?

CP: “Adopted” is an interesting word to use. “Abducted” was really the experience. No, I don’t remember much before the shelter. I do remember the shelter, however, with its endless food and its population of other animals. Thanks so much, by the way, for “rescuing” me. I’ve really appreciated the way you’ve sheltered me from any and all feline contact ever since, and all those times you remembered to feed me were oh-so-special.

She proceeds to repeatedly dig her claws into the right arm of the sofa and rip them out, sharpening her claws while leaving traces of her scent.

JW: No!! No scratch! No!

She stops, only to shoot me a glare of horror and loathing. I remove her claws physically from the fabric and sit her back down on the floor.

JW: Alright. Well, while we’re on the topic of naughty behavior, I’d like to talk a little about last Friday evening. We had company over and you hissed and howled until you had to be locked in the bathroom, which you proceeded to trash. Are you sending a message with this “bad girl” behavior, or do you simply have a bad temper?

CP: You know, I don’t know. Who can say why we do the things we do. All I know is that those enormous creatures you brought into my home were destroying everything in site with their atrocious stench. It was like they had been sleeping on the floor of a kennel for four days straight. I suppose I was simply defending what’s–

She walks away again, this time behind the entertainment center where she becomes instantly entangled in the dozens of cables and chords. After a few minutes she becomes frightened and lets out an uncharacteristically feeble “meow” for help. I untangle her and the interview continues.

JW: Cocoa, I’m going to dive right into this one. You’re known for your explosive temper. You’re a black cat. Any connection?

CP: (ears disappear into her head) Excuse me? I’m sorry; I can’t believe what you just said. I-I don’t even know how to respond. If I should respond…

JW: Animal behavior experts have suggested that there might be certain behavioral traits unique to black cats…

CP: You know, you people amaze me. Trying to pass generations of superstition and prejudice off as scientific fact. You – I bet you’re afraid of me, aren’t you? Right now, sitting here, you’re afraid of me. Admit it.

JW: That’s ridiculous. You’re twenty-five inches long. I can incapacitate you with one foot.

Cocoa bares her teeth and lets out a hiss. I flinch and hold the laptop up to protect myself. She stands to leave.

CP: This interview is over.

She walks away with a mix of poise and attitude. I proceed to clean up the tiny dollop of shit she left on the carpet.