Tunneling His Way to Her Heart : Notes on Falling in Love With a Two-Legged Tabby

It’s hard to believe he could be a heartthrob. A hirsute, 6-foot-2, lion-maned creature with a sharp, toothy smile and the most dulcet voice this side of the Royal Shakespeare Company. And a whole season and a Writer’s Guild strike haven’t brought him to his knees. He’s just plain indomitable.

And let’s be frank. Goodness knows, I didn’t expect to be swept away by the idea of a fuzzy hero.

So I suspect a lot of men out there are still a bit confused by the adulation by myself and many other women for the hefty Vincent, the Beast half of “Beauty and the Beast,” which has gone on summer hiatus.

Vincent’s beefy, tall and hairy. I mean really hairy. He’s got a nasty temper when roused and a pair of sharp-clawed hands.

But he’s really a pussycat at heart and loves to read Emily Dickinson and Charles Dickens’ “Great Expectations.”

I’m not talking Rambo here.

So, what is it about this guy, anyway?

Here’s my take on the situation: Besides all the above-mentioned traits, I think it really comes down to the fact that Vincent’s a cat. Albeit big for my lap, but--ooh--definitely cuddly. He’s as sweet as you could want and as unpredictable, except of course, when the heroine Catherine is in trouble. Then the lion comes out in him--with a roar--as it were, and you’d better not be the troublemaker.

He’s got lovely cat’s eyes, turned up at the corners and blue, like a Siamese, and he has a cat’s wonderful, enigmatic smile. But he speaks with a warming purr, just like my cat when I come home and head to the kitchen.

But Vincent has even more dimension than that: He’s also a man with a soul of a poet. What more could one want? He talks in the most romantic manner imaginable. He never uses slang. He’s a beast of few--but well-chosen and well-spoken--words.

You even have to admire the way Vincent lives. It’s a wonderful fairy-tale world in the least likely spot: under the subways in New York. The caverns glow with candlelight and russet tones; they’re cluttered with books and a delightful array of odds and ends--about as far away from office politics and commuter crunches as one could get in New York. An optimum place for a cat-man; a world of tunnels, unexpected turns, strange noises that need attention, niches and fine, comfortable places to curl up with a good book. Or sit, cat-like before a fire and dream.

But most of all, Vincent, unlike some men, has a warm heart. A lion heart, if you will. His sharp claws and angry energy are tempered by compassion (highly un-catlike) and truly cat-like wisdom.

His wisdom was acquired through his adoptive father, a physician who forsake the world above years ago and found Vincent as an abandoned baby on the steps of New York City’s St. Vincent’s Hospital (hence his name). He chooses to interact with the world above his abode only on his terms, usually at night, and with sure-footed silence.

The night gives him a necessary cover. He utilizes his cat’s prerogative to be aloof from the world above, only interacting with strangers when necessary. After all, most cats are extremely fastidious when it comes to those it chooses to be with. So, if Vincent knows you, his friendship is warming indeed and he’ll always come through for you. My cat always does.

Each week this season I’ve seen Catherine taking on some especially gritty assignment from the New York City District Attorney’s office, which usually, though inadvertently, needs the brawn, the courage and thinking of Vincent. (But to my way of thinking, this isn’t so peculiar. I discuss most of my problems with my cat, who always listens with that particular half-lidded gaze of the extremely wise.)

The minute Vincent spoke, well, I was hooked, line and sinker. It was that wonderful, mellifluous voice that pulled me in. Here was a great soul, indeed.

And what warms the cockles of this cat-lover’s heart is that Vincent and Catherine are due back next season.

It’s a bit sad, though, that Vincent is so limited in the degree of affection he can show for Catherine. It’s only through his words and an occasional hug that he can show his affection. What a pity.

But, as “Beauty and the Beast” is a fairy tale, well, the hero and heroine always have to give up something to learn and grow to achieve their goals. In this specific case, these two kids have a great love for each other, yet it’s not likely to ever be consummated. So many fairy tales are like that: wonder tempered by disappointment. Vincent and Catherine bring into clear focus the lesson: You can’t judge a lion by his mane, or what is beastly to some, is a beauty in others.

I mean, there are actually people who hate cats.

EPILOGUE: And imagine my jump for joy when I learned that Vincent’s alter ego, actor Ron Perlman, is scheduled to make an afternoon appearance at a science-fiction convention June 18 at the LAX Hyatt Hotel, 6225 W. Century Blvd. Be still my heart and soul!