My live-in companion, Orlando the Magnificat, is a lovely 11-year-old grey fellow with white paws and one grey toe. He is a delight, except occasionally when I have the nerve to entertain a guest. Then he suddenly recalls urgent appointments in the other room, making hectic displays of racing around madly, jumping up door frames and sliding down, creating an impression of fingernails on a blackboard. This is not to mention fits of hunger every five minutes or so.
None of this is exactly conducive to romance. But that may well be the point.
Some cats are manifestly more intelligent than others. If you dare, you can test yours to see where he might fall on the scale using E. M. Bard’s The Cat IQ Test. I propose this with some trepidation — as every cat owner will know, such an enterprise carries grave risks of insulting your furry friend.
Orlando was sitting on the back of the sofa in what I call his breadloaf position (paws curled under, tail elegantly tucked around him), when I first produced the book. Naturally monsieur was offended, at first, but he soon got into the spirit of the games.
Section A, “Cat Observation Test”, is easy to complete. I breezed through the questions answering “always” on almost all of them. As I looked at Orlando his white chest swelled. After all, everyone appreciates a little recognition. Question 2 asked if he “enjoys a variety of foods (eg, both pet food and people food).” How about ALL food? As a kitten he took a potato off my plate and put it in his food bowl. No message clearer than that. (Things have gone downhill. Sometimes when we are dining, he ends up sitting on my placemat as I hold my plate on my lap. He says he won’t tell.)
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Frankly, I never considered whether or not Orlando is right or left-pawed (No 19). He seems pretty ambipawstrous. He has cracked the code on his automatic cat feeder — advertised as cat-proof. I once upgraded to the more expensive, larger model and he figured that out too. Low scores on the first section were for No 23 “reacts to music and rhythm” and No 25 “can predict change in weather”. He expresses displeasure at certain music, of course, but doesn ‘t tap his tail. And I haven’t noticed any great weather predictions. He does, however, know that I am going out before I do and, for example, that this book was arriving in the mail.
Section B: Cat Performance Test. A great deal of diplomacy and timing was required in order to complete this section. I may have been lucky and timing is everything, but we did well. “No 7 Place the feather or thick rubber band on the floor two to four inches in front of your cat.” This produced impressively balletic results, including a two-pawed Petrushka move on hind legs followed by an elegant dolphin-like attack leap. This brief scene ended in the rubber band disappearing into the secret stash of toys comparable to the Domaine de Lost Laundry Socks.
On to section C, Extra Credit, where we fared less well. No 1 is a concern. “Is your cat able to make sounds on request?” The answer is a resounding NO (he does nothing on request. Please). The troubling illustration shows a shoe stepping on a tail. That’s just cruel. No 2 “Can sit, stand or roll over upon request.” Again, please. Does standing on your hind legs to eat goat’s cheese count? No 3 “Is able to pass any item from paw to paw or hit it back and forth in the air.” Again, no way. Back, yes. Forth, yes. But not in a row. Orlando has a tree trunk with two carpeted shelves, which he uses for wild scratching in between mad dashes caused by fits of jealousy or post-litterbox euphoria. He enjoys a good game of bat the ball if perched up above (or maybe he just enjoys watching me run around to keep sending it up to him).
Section D: Credit Deductions. Sounds ominous. Turns out to be for physically challenged felines, which my little man is not. However, we will deduct one point for waking up from nap, stretching and going back to sleep. (O and I are unimpressed with the question, however, as this behaviour seems to make a great deal of sense to both of us.)
It is not without pride that I can honestly say that on the scale from 60 (“below normal”) to 140 and above (“genius”), my cat scored between 134 “superior” (he always knew he was) and 141, genius! No self-respecting cat would wish to display the certificate at the end of the book, but it’s nice that it’s there, if only to give the Examiner a false sense of her own importance — especially since, in the end, The Man in the Grey Suit seems to be the one testing me.
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Finally my superior animal and I curl up and turn to another book from the same stable, French and Poetry for Cats. Orlando was quickly bored by the French section only because the French is rudimentary for a cat who has lived in Paris and Geneva, and is familiar with such phrases as gris impérial and double fourrure when a French meter reader complimented him on his coat during an afternoon affair. But we both admired the illustrations and loved the poetry.
If you can disappear when all about you
Are madly searching for you everywhere,
And then just when they start to leave without you,
Turn up as if you always were right there
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Nothing like a romantic evening at home with your cat.
Test Your Cat: The Cat IQ Test by E. M. Bard (HarperCollins, £4.99; offer £3.99); French and Poetry for Cats by Henry Beard (HarperCollins, £7.99; offer £6.79)