Many thanks to l'Heure Bleue, who referred me to this hilarious cat post. 

This was originally posted on Catster, where I wrote as my other cat, Milagrito, in July, 2007. 

Sports Magic

by Milagrito 

I’ve been thinking about the sports glories of my youth, but before I get down to my topic for today, I would like to explain a media term. Mama told Aunt Shirley that I intended to write a fluff piece on sports, and she replied, “Isn’t everything he writes a fluff piece?” Very funny, Aunt Shirley. As a matter of fact, “fluff” means that the work is light and entertaining, not that the writer is fluffy. A fluffy writer can write serious stuff, too. 

However, today I want to write about the most entertaining part of a cat’s life: sports. I don’t mean just play. There’s a difference between play and sports. For instance, you can play with a toy mouse. There are no rules or techniques. However, if the mouse is batted back and forth under a door by two cats or a cat and a human, that is a sport, Mouse Tennis. It has rules (cat rules) and has to be done in a certain manner. Sports are usually played by a cat or cat team versus a human, although humans rarely score. They aren’t very nimble, though they are pretty quick to learn rules. 

Since I’ve turned eight, I’m less interested in playing sports, but to be perfectly frank, I was never a great athlete. I was competent and enthusiastic, but the highly ranked athlete in our household was Sirenita. I was her manager and greatest fan. She played some memorable games. They still talk about her numbers around the water dish. She excelled at many sports, most notably Sirenita Ball, where she was the number one player in the world.

Sirenita Ball--originally called Ball in the Hall and renamed in her honor--is a challenging test of a cat’s skill. It requires a human pitcher, a cat, and a small pile of super balls. The human crouches at one end of the hallway and the cat fielder sits at the other. Behind the cat is a closed door, and open doors are situated midway down the hallway to the right and left. Can you picture the field? The ball can be pitched in the air or bounced but must be thrown straight forward so that if the cat misses, the ball bounces off the closed door. Sirenita never missed. 

Depending on the pitch, the cat has several alternatives. She can return the ball, for 2 points; she can bounce it off the walls for 2 points for the first bounce and 3 points for each rebound as long as the ball moves continuously, or 16 points if all four paws are off the ground when she contacts the ball and the ball bounces off two walls without hitting the floor; she can put the ball out of play (“dead ball”) with one paw on the ball after one bounce, for 5 points (harder than it looks); she can run the field through either door scoring 2 points each time she boots the ball as long as the ball moves continuously but the ball cannot bounce more than twice between kicks or it’s out of play; running the ball to the left is worth 25 points if the ball goes dead behind the toilet, running the ball to the right through the dining room, into the living room and under the sofa scores 57 points. Cat rules, disputes settled by the cat. “Referee” is a purely honorary position. 

What is the difference between a playful kitten and one of the greats? A combination of mind and body traits. Concentration. Sirenita had it. She always sat while awaiting the pitch, never paced or fidgeted. She looked so relaxed you would never have guessed she was playing for the title. Stamina. She played night after night, and never had a bad game. Extraordinary sensory capacities. She had some faculty the rest of us can barely imagine and have never experienced, the ability to smell the ball, sense its magnetism, slow it down, magnify it. What looks like a blur to the rest of us looks slow, fat and lazy as a beach ball to Sirenita. Timing. You can’t learn reflexes like hers. You can work, you can train, but you have to be born with the gift, or you will never be Sirenita. One moment she’s looking vaguely in Daddy’s direction, then almost faster than you can see it, she’s executed a perfect airborne twisting right-footed power-boot, rocketing herself off the right wall and the ball off the left and through the door, then zooming to get under the ball and boot it again before it can even bounce. Sometimes I was so stunned by her performance I would wander, cheering, into the middle of the hall, and the ref would shout, “Fan on the field!” and halt the game until I was ready to go back to my box seat. I was there the night she scored 2857 points. I had tears in my eyes. 

Sirenita is retired now. She decided to quit while she was still on top. I supported that decision, although it made me sad. But it’s better this way than having her get injured by playing too long. She still plays other games for fun, of course. She was always a top String player, and both of us have played Kibble all our lives. Kibble is played with a pitcher and one or two fielders. When we play together, I generally play outfield and Sirenita plays infield. The pitcher rolls the kibble across the floor and the cat pounces, and kills and eats the kibble. There is no scoring, the cat always wins, but aficionados like to comment on the cat’s stalking and pouncing technique. My own lightning pounce is much admired. 

Sirenita, of course, brings something extra to the game--her ability to catch fly kibbles in the infield, really a dog’s play. Dogs have cavernous mouths, and Sirenita has a tiny mouth, yet somehow she makes it look easy. She can catch a fly kibble with barely a twitch of her head, or with a quick paw assist. One night she caught 11 fly kibbles in a row, pawless, with Mama pitching--and Mama pitches like a girl. I myself specialize in the “prayer” two-handed catch. I’m not bad and I like to get out and play when I can. Sirenita, on the other hand, prefers to spend her days sleeping and eating now, although she’ll work out with bugs once in a while and she can be persuaded to come out for a round of Celebrity Kibble to benefit the feral cats. However, she’s happier out of the spotlight, quietly transferring her superior skills to her work as a sports physical therapist. Mama says her massage is the most curative she’s ever had.

Lately there’s been a lot of press about what might be in the cat food. Fancy Feast is accused of having banned ingredients, like hair and hooves. The media has always been hostile to Sirenita, calling her “aloof” because she prefers to hide in the basement rather than give interviews. Now the media is questioning whether Sirenita’s triumphs were entirely “natural.” Yeah, right. She’s quick because she eats hooves. Well, let me tell you something--everybody ate that stuff, but there was only one Sirenita. Sports greatness is not a question of cat food. It’s a combination of perfect genes and hard work. Sirenita remains oblivious to the fuss. For her, it’s all about the game.