Behind the Cat
Interviewer: So, Mr. Cat, or may I call you Ivan?
Ivan: Just Ivan. I'm a domestic shorthair, for Christ's sake. Save the titles for those stuffy Angoras. Siamese. Hmph, pedigrees.
Interviewer: Great. Ivan. I'll remember that. So, I wanted to talk to you a little bit about your recent photo shoot. How did you come across this brush with fame?
Ivan: Come across? It came across me, more like. I was peacefully working on maintaining my twenty-two hour sleep quota — a cat's gotta keep his killer instincts tuned, you know — when my human and his friends came stumbling into my apartment around midnight. They expected me to entertain them. I don't know what it is with drunk humans. Look, a cat. Can I pet it. What does it do. And so on. You'd a thought I was a pet or some'n.
Interviewer: Must be difficult sometimes. . . .
Ivan: Yeah, so in a sanguine attempt to prevent yours truly from being subjected to another demeaning round of . . . you know what I'm sayin' . . . bein' teased with catnip mice or tricked into jumpin' into pants legs, I ventured, "You know, nothin' really says 'Cat' like a sexy photograph." I think it worked.
Interviewer: And so it did. Quite an impressive spread. Must have been some convincing convincing. There are rumours that you even talked them out of some coffee during the shoot, as well.
Ivan: If anything like that happened, and mind you, it didn't, it was strictly decaf. I gotta keep my reputation clean around here, got it? So let's keep this friendly. And if I hear you've been talking about any habit I might have, which I don't, then your family tree could be a shrub. Clear?
Interviewer: Crystal.
Ivan: So, ask me more about the photos. That's what we're here to discuss, I was told.
Interviewer: Of course, Mr. Cat. Ivan. So, the photos. Tell me about your previous modelling experience?
Ivan: Not so much really. Just some amateur work. I've been telling my human he needs a serious setup to represent me in the media world, but he keeps sayin' things like "budget", "priorities", "rent". Personally I think he's coverin' up for something, if you know what I'm sayin'.
Interviewer: How is your relationship with the guy? I mean, it seems like you have some regrets. . . .
Ivan: Don't get me wrong, buddy. He keeps me up in the good food. The diet stuff I like. Because I like it, not because I gotta, you know. He takes pretty good care of me and all, too. But a cat has needs. My public deserves better representation of me, like I said.
So this photographer dame, see. That's what I'm talkin' about. Look nice while you're makin' me look nice, know what I'm sayin'. My human just doesn't do it for me. Seriously, would you be able to look that sexy for some man with a camera?
Interviewer: Well, I don't see how my . . . I mean, no, seeing it your way . . . of course not, Mr. Cat. Ivan.
Ivan: Of course. Anyway. I digress. This was the premium stuff. Real camera, real photos. Not just some "look at the cat — he didn't get all the fish off his whiskers" what-have-you. I'm destined for fame now. Tell your kittens back home. I'm big. Big, I tell ya.
Interviewer: Funny you should mention that. Seems the publication has been receiving some comments that you . . . I mean, your physique. . . .
Ivan: . . . What're you tryin' to say?
Interviewer: . . . it's . . . well, gravitationally significant.
Ivan: Well, you know what they say. The camera adds five pounds.
Interviewer: Um, well, very large actually.
Ivan: I don't get your drift.
Interviewer: To quote a couple of readers, "Wow, that cat is freaking HUGE!"
Ivan: . . .
Interviewer: . . .
Ivan: . . .
Interviewer: I. . . .
Ivan: That hurts. That really . . . that hurts.
Interviewer: My dearest apologies, I. . . .
Ivan: I mean, I know I got a bit of a weight problem, but you gotta understand. I lost my mama I was only a week old. Had to grow up that way. It's a tough way to go, no mama. You still have your mother?
Interviewer: Well, yes, sir, I. . . .
Ivan: Then can it, Cupcake. It breaks a man's heart, to lose his mama. And then to get your junglies snipped without provocation. Not much motivation to stay in shape when there ain't no peanuts in your Poppycock, if you know what I mean. Or maybe you do know. . . . And then to put up with all you scraggly-ass humans, on top, and . . . .
Interviewer: Sir, I'm so sorry, please I didn't mean . . . .
Ivan: You know? I oughtta. . . I oughtta. . . . Askin' a self-respectin' individual to come to an interview like this, and then insulting his character. What kind of person, I ask you? What kind of measly runt of a human being. . . .
Interviewer: I beg you, please. . . .
Ivan: Damn apes. . . .
[Editor's Note: At this point the transcript abruptly ends. Last accounts of our correspondent place him near the red freight cranes on the inlet, accompanied by a "very serious, short, and rather hairy little man." Any information leading to the identification of either individual's whereabouts would be greatly appreciated.]