Q: How Old Are You?

A: I am about sixteen years old. That puts me into solid middle age for a cat of my caliber and distinct quality. If you are ever caught calling me geriatric (let alone old), bad things will happen to your shoes while you're not looking.

Seriously, we cats can live quite a long life, particularly if we're not foolish enough to expose ourselves to the unscreened vicissitudes of outdoor life. While I have had my share of unfortunate incidents, I am doing fine and look forward to many more years of lording it over whoever doesn't have the willpower to resist.

Q: What Race and Breed Are You?

A: Black and white, more or less. Why do you ask?
I do not believe in evaluating Divinely Feline Creatures by irrelevant incidentals like race or outward appearance. What are you, a racist? Cats know that length of ears, orientation of fur, or color of spots is a minor wrinkle on what is important: eating, sleeping, and dominating the environment to the greatest extent possible. Besides, any cat has more than enough cuteness to master most people she encounters, and the true measure of character is how she deals with the rare mutant creature able to offer minor resistance.

Q: Do You like catnip?

A: Catnip? Do I like this Divine Ambrosia of the Gods? Well, hrrrmph, yes, I do. As you may know, catnip appreciation is a genetic trait in cats. I happen to have the Divinely Inspired Gene that lifts my soul in search of ever higher plains of existence whenever I get a whiff of it. I pity the poor cat who has been short-changed by destiny to lack such spiritual appreciation. Well, there's always the next life...

Q: You look awfully attractive. Can we meet?

A: Unfortunately (for you), I am pretty much an indoor cat. While I enjoy keeping an eye on the outside realm of our vast possessions, and make the occasional ceremonial trip to our lovely garden, I do not sully myself by roaming around the countryside. That's what I have minions (uh, co-residents) for. If you really want to visit, I'm afraid you will have to bring a human embassador to take you into the house. Please be meek and submissive, or I will be forced to hiss at you. Remember whose house you're in. Alternatively, I will be happy to sniff at your nose through our screen door. Please bring gifts; it's only fair.

Q: You mean you never get to roll in the grass and chew on it? How sad.

A: Really. Our spacious back yard features a special wooden box where Audrey has planted rich, luscious grass especially for my enjoyment. When I feel like rolling in it, Audrey opens the backdoor and off I go, with no need to sully myself with dirt in the process. (Besides, should I ever wish to play with actual dirt, I know exactly where to find it indoors.)

Q: Do you have a steady boyfriend?

A: Certainly not. Well, not really. Not specifically. Uh... well, it's like this: There is this boy cat, Pumpkin by name, who reigns over the house behind ours. He's an immigrant of sorts, having lived the wild life before finally finding his very own human family to serve his every whim. He still strolls around the outside - old habits, I shall generously assume - and seems to mistakenly think that my garden is, well, his. I tolerate him as well as I can, though on occasion I have to instruct him in proper ownership rules. For some reason, he still tries to approach me with, uh, personal attentions, when we meet in my garden. Since we are both appropriately treated, if you get my drift, I find his attentions rather tiresome. I don't know why he doesn't get a hint and leave me alone. It is after all, my garden - he should at least know to bring some gifts when he visits.

Q: Is it true that cats are alien invaders bent on taking over the Earth?

A: How silly. I assure you that most cats I know where born right on this planet. As for taking over the Earth, who would want that job? We prefer to direct matters from the safety and comfort of our pillows, and leave the ghastly reality of governing to our duly indoctrinated human minions.