I glanced at the want ads in the Calistoga Tribune and gasped: "Wanted, neutered male cat to mommy blog and improve my revenue stream while I take a vacation from it all." That had to be me, who else knew more about mommies, blogging and had real experience with neutering? Well, maybe I didn't know anything about being a mommy, but I was sure I could wing it.
I called the number and made an appointment. I printed out my resume and took the car. I didn't tell my campaign manager where I was going.
Fact was, I was so excited by the opportunity, I forgot to tell her. The prospect of earning some real money had me making a list of all the things I could buy with the cash. It is well known that cat blogging isn't lucrative, but mommy blogging is. That's right, some of those mommies are blogging millionaires and I wanted a piece of the action.
Some 9,000 bloggers are tagged as mommy bloggers on Technorati.com. Self-identified cat bloggers total about 8,700. Some of these categories overlap. There are many mommy bloggers with animals, and so they have the right to tag themselves as both. But what are the real differences between mommy blogging and cat blogging- except that mommy blogging is highly lucrative and cat blogging is done for the love of it?
I was about to find out.
I made my appointment just in time for dinner. Liz from 'Joisey' , who offered a "full frontal encounter" with her life, was working on pot roast and vacuuming the front hall when I rang her front door bell. Actually when I arrived, Liz was so busy one of her four kids answered the door. "You want mom?" The youngster swung the door open to reveal Liz vacuuming in her six-inch high heels. I liked her instantly! I tried on her shoes and checked out dinner. It was all too good to be true. In the end, I thought we had solidified our friendship and the job was mine. I was so sure of the position; I even showed Liz some of my lap dancing techniques. Was I in for a big surprise.
Liz shook my hand good by and said she would let me know. I told her I'd be around on Monday morning with my apron and dictionary. "Not so fast boy-o," she had a way of speaking that was disarming and sexy at the same time. I could still taste the pot roast on my cheeks.
"What do you mean?" I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up a bit. "I got the job, didn't I?"
"Well, sonny, it's clear to me you don't know nothing about mommying," she never bothered to use a dictionary and sometime it showed. "Not only do you not know how to be a mother. You can't cook; know nothing about children, laundry and cleaning; and you are also an unlicensed driver. You can't drive the kids to soccer and that's what I need the most. I can't take a vacation and have any hopes that my kids would even be alive when I got home. No deal Mr. Kitty, you aren't hired!
And while she later admitted I had made some points in the interview with my lap dancing, it was a long, lonely trip home. I will tell you one thing, those mommy bloggers are a hard group to bust into.
When I got home it was late. My campaign manager was asleep, face down in the pillow. It took a bit to rouse her. I needed to talk out my frustrations AND I needed a snack.
"Why do mommy bloggers earn so much more money and respect than cat bloggers?" I asked her out of the silence of the house and she was startled.
"Fruit of the loins," she muttered, "legitimizes everything. There is the inheritance factor, the American Family factor, the expense of raising kids," she turned over in her sleep. "It could also be that it's just more natural to carry around a dolly/baby rather than a potentially filthy cat with a disease. Aren't you a vector of infection?"
"But," I pointed out, "some cat bloggers dress their cats. Report on their cat's every illness. Some hope that they will run for high office in the future, some even (gasp) bath their cats! That could be defined as mommying."
She cleared her throat in a rather inelegant way, "Some cats refer to their 'owners' as mommies and daddies, but that does not make it so and it reveals a deep psychological problem. Now, it is 3 am, we are not having this conversation."
"Did you every want to be a mommy, instead of a cat.....person?" I asked this hesitantly. My campaign manager swatted me. "Mommies do not swat their children," I howled.
"I am not your mother," she spoke directly into her pillow. "I am you campaign manager. I created you and your campaign after realizing anybody, including a cat, could run for president. I created your adventures as a way to make me smile when things seem grim. You made me laugh when we invaded Iraq. No baby could do that. I am not a mommy blogger. I am a cat blogger AND I am proud to be one!"
I persisted: "Did you ever want to have babies?"
There was a big sigh from somewhere under the pillow. "My mother was less than enthusiastic about me," my campaign manager said. "She told me that unless I wanted to spend half of my life raising up-spitting, pooping idiots, I should avoid it altogether."
"Do you ever regret not having kids?" I asked this tentatively.
"I am beginning to regret fostering you!" As if to emphasize the point she picked me up and carried me out to the empty family room. She turned on the TV and left me there.
Early morning TV can make one sick. As I lay there amidst the infomercials for Bowflex and real estate schemes, I wondered about my own mother. That she was a catnip addict and left me as a young kitty when I had barely opened my eyes was part of my official presidential candidate biography. I never knew what her feelings were for me. I had never seen her, and yet, I felt that she loved me. And I found this feeling absurd. Was this simply something I had manufactured? The need of a young orphaned kitty to feel that his mother had loved him?
As I surfed the channels, I found a public television special about the great mother of Rome. As only public television can do, it took the story of the orgiastic cult of the Magna Mater and made it the most boring story on the face of the earth.
Cybele, or the Mater Deum Magna Idaea, entered Rome in April 204 BC. For most of that month for hundreds of years afterwards the Megalesia was celebrated in her honor. The Megalesia consisted of games, theatrical performances, a taurobolium and the ecstatic castration of her male followers. This was not a boring cult. These were real nutters.
But public television made the outrageous celebration dull. My eyes grew weary and I promptly fell asleep and dreamed of her mother spirit embodied in a black rock from outer space.
I found myself following her procession through the streets of the Palatine Hill. I stood in the crowd as she was washed in the piazza fountain. Somehow I found myself falling into the fountain with her. I inhaled enough water to choke and came up sputtering. Water flying from my nose and mouth. I sneezed in her face. I was overcome with her very alive presence. I licked her face.
"Cato!" She put her hand out, grabbed me and saved me from drowning. I guess I must have surprised her. She took me by the nape of my neck and settled me into her lap. "The Great Cat has spoken about you." She smoothed my ruff. "We finally meet, dear Cato," she smiled at me and held my body close to hers. "The Great Cat told me you can be something of a handful, so sit still until I am returned to my throne. Relax, try to enjoy the spectacle. Don't give me any trouble."
From my spot in her lap, the whole of Rome laid spread out in front of me. We were surrounded by revelers. There was the clash of cymbals and drums. Lions roared as they drew our chariot in a stately fashion over the cobblestones. All the while the Galli, her priests, sang with joy. They danced around our vehicle their long hair flying. Priestesses played riotous music with flutes, horns, castanets and tambourines. They crowd shouted her name.
Although it was very noisy, I felt deeply relaxed in her lap, and as she patted me lightly, my eyes slowly closed. And while I did not sleep, the next time I opened them, we were alone. Again she took me by the nape of my neck and raised me up to eye level with her.
"Dear Cato," her breath was sweet with mint. "I understand you want to know what it is to be a mother," she smiled, amused at my expense. She brought me closer to her brown eyes and seemed to study me for a second. Then she brought my head close to her own forehead and butted me with it. There was an explosion in my mind and I was whisked down a long tunnel into awareness.
I experienced the generative power of mother. Not just a mommy blogger, no, this was the All-begetter, the All-nourisher, the Mother of all. I was bathed in sweat and an entire sea of milk. I held tightly to her chest and I received the knowledge of the beginning and the end of life through the Mother's eyes.
I woke hours later on the sofa, full, warm and very happy. I found I had gone beyond my need to be a mommy blogger. Instead, I rested in the full knowledge of the divine mother. I needed nothing else.
