The Emperor's New Clothes

The parable is told of this vainpot emperor who wanted so much to be stylo-mylo he sent a decree for all the fashionista tailors to come and make him the most bestest clothes. So these two scallywags came and cheated him big-big and created him nothing so that he went about naked and thought himself most trig, decked out in invisible clothes.

My cat Iago must have heard this parable in reverse because he thought his natural suit of fur is not enough. He wants to wear clothes, real clothes. Otherwise he stalks around the house literally screaming his displeasure.

It started innocently enough when I found Sly's old collar - pretty new with a shiny bell because Sly never could abide the collar and always shrug it off in 2 seconds flat. I put it on Iago and noticed how he seemed to preen himself, how he walked self-consciously, head up shoulders back, how he walked all over the house seemingly showing off his collar and bell and even sat outside my condo unit, seeming to evince a desire to show off to the neighbours that he has a fashion accessory.

Many months pass. Everytime I bathe him, I would take off his collar. He happened to be one of those cats whose tiger genes are strong or he thought he is a tiger and so loved bathing. But after his baths and if I should forget to clip the collar back for him, he would stalk after me calling his displeasure. At first I didn't realise what the problem was. Woe was me if I forgot to put back his collar and yet dared to stand at my dressing table and put on my own accessories - earrings, watch, bangle or necklace. He would jump up and sit amidst my earring stand and accessories rack and balefully glare at every accessory I take out and put on me, but not on him. When I finished and walked away, he would let out such a hue and cry, jump down, run after me and jump on my legs, scratching and even biting, sometimes drawing blood.

Eventually I cottoned on and made sure to put his collar on. The times when he had his collar on and I was at my dressing table, he would still sit in his habitual spot but instead of glaring at me, he would sit extra upright, his neck stretched to display his collar and looked on benignly as I went through my ritual. Were I guilty of anthropomorphizing my pets, I might just read the smug expression on his face to mean "What? You need so many? With only one I'm still more handsome than you."

Incidentally, unlike Sly, he never swiped at any of the hanging earrings or necklaces. Of course he smelled and checked them all, but he never bothered them, pulled them down or disarrayed any of them.

One day, as I was putting the collar on him, the clasp broke. I showed it to him and explained to him, of course he didn't understand and refused to be mollified. Larry suggested using a rafia string. Note to non-Malaysian readers: this is a short piece of rafia string roughly 10 inches long tied in the round, used by traders to tie up plastic bags of food or drinks for you to take-away. Most Malaysian kitchens would have a hook where these are hung up to be reused, usually to tie up your garbage before depositing in the outside trash bin.

So we took one and put it over his head. It is kind of loose around his neck. Any self-respecting cat would have shrugged it off in a second. But lo and behold, my cat thought it's the latest fashion in neckties or lariat. He strutted and preened, we had a good laugh because it was the cheapest collar, nay, it cost nothing and it comes in different colors. He could easily make his fashion statement at no cost whatsoever to us.

Some months ago, I noticed how he would narrowly observe the clothes we took off and then attempt to get under, within, into the clothes. So I went to the petshop and asked for some lapdog shirts or vests. The assistant asked me what breed I have and when I replied I have a cat, she told me no cat would wear clothes. She went into detail how the cat's flexible spine would help the cat to discard the clothes easily. I told her I would chance it.

I brought the shirt back, put it on Iago and the rest is history.

He thinks he's the emperor in the above parable

"I don't need any of these frivolous stuff to look handsome"

I knitted this for my STAR CAT

Posing even in his sleep

And the Malaysian football jersey complete with his name. A true mascot!

Sacrifice

Now I think I understand the sacrifice parents go through for love of the child. I'm referring to a particular food you may really like but if your child loves it, you forego eating it so that he can have extra helpings.

And I don't even have a child - I have only one demanding cat* who thinks the world revolves around him and I am his personal butler, whom I love to excess, whom I spoil against all reason.

I am the type of finicky eater who likes her bread well-buttered - every inch should be slathered thickly with butter or jam. Every spoonful of rice must also have a sliver of meat or fish, vegetable or egg. Every spoonful of noodle should also be accompanied with something which might be a bit difficult to achieve if I was eating out and ordered a bowl of Koay Teow Thng or Prawn Mee. So, when I finish all the "accompaniments", I would have the noodle with a little soup and when I finish the soup, I'd just leave the noodles behind.

My father tells me that when I was a toddler and when he helped to feed me, I would insist every spoonful of porridge be accompanied by a bit of fish meat. "But there's always more porridge than fish no matter how much fish your mother ladled into the bowl, so sometimes I would lie to you that the fish is underneath the porridge in the spoon. You would take it but instead of swallowing, you would move the food around in your mouth, feeling for the fish and when you don't find any fish, you would glare at me accusingly. And at the next spoonful I offer you, you would say adamantly, 'Fih'."

I don't like white bread or white rice. Certain pau (Chinese dumpling) that has very little meat or filling inside it would be nibbled and the white dough be left behind.

When I fry noodles, you'll find all the other ingredients in excess of the noodles itself. When I make myself a sandwich, it sports a ham that is bigger than the slice of bread and it will also have lots of other things so that I would not end up with a mouthful of plain bread.

Somehow or other, Iago is just like me. He is so spoilt he would not eat rice or plain bread or the whites of the pau. He only wants the meat, the chicken, the fish, the ham. Not only is he extremely vocal when demanding I share my food with him, he would stand up on his hindlegs and paw at me. Sometimes when the food is already in my mouth and he finds finds nothing in my hands but realising I'm still chewing, he would hook his claws into my shirt to pull me so that I would bend towards him and he could smell what I'm eating.

Sounds terrible. Sounds like I've got a cat with a discipline problem. But when he is doing it, it is kind of funny and endearing. I couldn't help but laugh and bow to his demands. And sacrifice my ham, meat, fish whatever he likes which I also like.

Nowadays when I prepare my sandwich, I use two slices of ham! All the food that I personally prepare, I would have additional fish or prawn or meat to accommodate him. But if I bring back outside food, then, I would have to pay the price of love and sacrifice.

* NB: This is my "rebound" cat - the kitten Larry picked up from his favorite breakfast place (the Nasi Lemak stall beside the SS2 Police Station) on the 3rd day after I lost Sly. He couldn't stand my weeping 2 nights and 3 mornings in a row. Initially I didn't want to love Iago so much, didn't take too many pictures of him, didn't hug or cuddle him, and locked away Sly's soft toys in a drawer so that he wouldn't "contaminate" it with his scent. Of course he soon found his way into my heart, entrenched himself there in fact and now totally rules the roost. I can date the very first time he hooked himself into my heart.

It was about a fortnight after he had come to stay with us. Larry had bagged me McD's Nuggets for supper. I sat on the sofa in the den and peeled open the BBQ sauce container. Then I opened up the box, took one nugget, dipped it into the sauce, put it into my mouth and bit off half. The smell woke Iago from his nap next door in our room and he ran into the den caterwauling: "Iiiiii-aaaaaaa-u, iiiiii-aaaaaaa-u."

He clambered up onto the sofa by pulling himself up claw over claw (he's still a kitten and hadn't learnt to jump up elegantly). I had quickly closed the box of nuggets and shoved it onto the top of the mini fridge beside the sofa, and popped the other half of the nugget into my mouth. When he stood beside me on the sofa, I showed him my two empty hands. He smelled them, looked up at me chewing with my lips together, and climbed onto one of my thighs, stood up on his hindlegs, reached up with his front paws, claws extended and hooked my blouse and pulled me down so that he could smell my mouth. I had to laugh and I had to share. That established his ritual and my "enslavement".