I'm Like The Horse Whisperer. But With Cats.

There was a cat in a cage on the Subway this morning. He wasn't by himself - his people were with him. Woulda sucked if he was alone, cause again he was in a cage and he'd be pretty much f*cked. He was orange and white and mewing incessantly.

I have always had this gift with cats. I can pick up even the wildest of felines, and I have this secret hold that I do where they'll always just go limp and relax. Might also have something to do with the finger in the butt.



Anyway, I made eye contact with the cat. It stared at me for a bit, cried out again briefly and then shut up. I didn't hear him mew again for the rest of the ride. Maybe my steely gaze intimidated it. Maybe word has gotten around the water dish that I violate the odd cat with my pinky.

My own cat, Boss - I'll admit that I have one as I'm comfortable with my sexuality - is remarkably obedient. He comes when I call him, does tricks, yaps incessantly and loves people. He's like a dog. Or Bryan Whitely.

But I'm good with the cats.