Yesterday’s New York Times reported that Pope Benedict is a cat-lover…a “soul-mate” to cats, they say. Read the story here.
According to the Times, Popes have enjoyed a special affinity with cats over the years:
“Pope Paul II, in the 15th century, had his cats treated by his personal physician. Leo XII, in the 1820s, raised his grayish-red cat, Micetto, in the pleat of his cassock. And according to The Times of London, Paul VI, pope from 1963 to 1978, is said to have once dressed his cat in cardinal’s robes.”
A cat dressed in cardinal’s robes? Those guys need to get a life.
Sure, it’s nice to know that the tough-minded Cardinal Ratzinger took care of cats in the gardens of his Congregation and even bandaged their wounds. But…wounds? What were those cats fighting about? Could a little spay-and-neuter clinic be the answer? Please tell me it’s not against the Pope’s religion to … um…fix the situation.
Anyway, if the current Pope wants a little souvenir to take back to the Vatican, I’ll make the supreme sacrifice. He can have our two spoiled felines…either or both.
There would be only one downside, as far as I’m concerned. Our cats like to eat on the floor, especially our fat old tabby. Jumping up to the counter, out of my reach, gets harder as we age. So Cathy leaves a food plate on the floor when we go out.
If I’m lucky, she forgets to pick it up when we return. So I get to sneak a delicious snack. I always look very smug when this happens.
Other than that, who needs them? They take over my dog beds. They run away when I try to play. Or they even swat my nose. Cats do not understand the concept of living in community.
A one-way ticket to Italy…perfect.
Here’s my candidate for deportation, sitting on top of Cathy’s backpack. She looks so innocent… but don’t be fooled. Those little paws can do a lot of damage.