The talent gets to snooze in cages done up like Beverly Hills boudoirs.
There they were, groomed for glory: Abyssinians, Persians and Balinese, Maine Coons, Scottish Folds, Turkish Fans and a zillion varieties of Siamese--lavender, chocolate and blue point, to name a few.
If it sounds complicated, it was, certainly for a dog lover with little sympathy for hairballs--not the cats themselves but the bits of fur they swallow licking themselves clean.
Yet even hairballs assumed a certain mysterious quality and the status of High Art at a recent Sunday show put on by the American Cat Assn. The array of cat-grooming products for sale filled an entire corner of the National Guard Armory in Glendale and did an impressive job--even before use--of turning the gross into the glamorous.
“Petromalt, the Original Hairball Remedy,” read one seductive elixir. “An aid in the elimination of swallowed hair and the prevention of hairballs.” “Pretty Eyes Tear Stain Remover,” said another, delicately describing how to wipe away the crusty globs of mucus that would sour any beauty’s chance of winning a ribbon.
“PDQ All-Purpose Odor Killer,” “Petrelief Medicated Anti-Itch Spray” and four types of flea collars promoted hygiene with all the tact and finesse of an ad for earwax dissolvers.
The Pet Dryer, from Doggie Products of America, comes in “three great models,” all of which resemble a microwave and bring to mind the joke about a very clean cat meeting a very nasty end.
Something called Foo-Foo promised in English and French instructions to “bring out the natural lustre.” Brown Sugar talcum--meant by its manufacturers for use on black babies--was promoted here as the perfect powder for reds and cremes to render them fluffy without chalky residue.
And the shampoos. House of An-Jus, in packaging to rival that of Crabtree and Evelyn, available for all shades of fur. Black-In, to bring out the highlights in blacks and reds. Snowy Blue, to accentuate whites. “It might turn yellow from licking,” salesman Kenny White explained with all the gravity of a network anchorman.
“Oxidation,” piped up his partner, John Ramirez. “Blacks must be black; whites must be white. They have to be groomed to perfection.”
“You can have a superior cat lose out to an inferior cat because it’s not groomed properly,” White said.
Allergies lost it for Skinny Kitty, a blue point Siamese overcome by the cleanser sprayed on the examination table. The fumes made her too cranky to handle, and she shrank back into her cage like some too thin, Ivy League priss after a romantic disappointment.
“That solution’s been mixed too strong,” snapped Skinny’s owner, Phil Morini, a bicoastal film maker and P.R. director for the area humane society.
As he shook his head over Skinny’s attack, Morini was asked whether cat shows are humane.
“Is it humane, that thing that goes on in Atlantic City, called the Miss America contest?” he shot back. “If we can do it to humans, cats don’t seem to object either.”
What’s a cat not to like after all? “They get their endorsements, publicity, free food,” Morini said.
Not to mention Nick’s Feline Furniture, imported from Las Vegas--scratching posts covered in designer-color carpeting; a 6-foot, multitiered “cat tree” for $95; a small Western-style wagon, also carpet-covered, for $50. Tassels included for paw-batting practice.
Between contests, the talent gets to snooze in cages done up like Beverly Hills boudoirs. Two Japanese bobtails reposed in miniature, velveteen hammocks within a simulated forest of deep green and black silk and velvet printed with leaves and floral patterns. Lavender prevailed on Siamese Row--owners swear it enhances the lilacs and the blues in the fur. The cage fronts, like tiny theaters, were framed with lush drapes of calico, satin and lace.
And the lace--so dainty, so demure, so abundant in one cage after another, aisle after aisle, ruffled and tied back like curtains in a Victorian parlor.
“A very elegant, very decorative time,” explained designer Nancy Stiles of Mission Hills, owner of a Grand Champion Exotic named Hi-Styles Cupcake and founder of Nancy’ Originals custom cat cages.
“They’re soft,” she said, in reference to things feline and froufrou. “A cat is a luxury item. My dog guards my property, but my cat loves me.”
Like any professional designer, Stiles works with her clients to achieve “the image they want to project.” Color and breed are naturally considered in creating the “sets,” which cost from $250 to $500.
“What I mainly do is I make a setting for your animal. The curtain should just be the frame for your cat, not a distraction.
“That cat should look like dynamite, whatever it’s on,” Stiles said. “I’m very arty, so my product is very arty.”
The only thing missing from this celebration of trivia and pretense was that prissy feline of the human world, a historic preservationist. Baroque gave way to burlesque--cages topped by parasols, swathed in feather boas, strands of pearls and beads--to Bauhaus.
A stark Plexiglas box with its own ventilation system housed a bicolor, flat-faced Persian named Bit of Felicia.
“He’s one sweet love boy,” cooed owner Barbara Tresenriter, just as “Bits” rolled off his ice pack, shut his swollen eyes, pushed out his little tongue and burped.
