The cat's pajamas (and the cat's meow, the cat's whiskers), was a very
popular expression in the 1920s, associated with the daring and
unconventional jazz-age flappers. H.L. Mencken describes the flapper as
a young woman who "has forgotten how to simper; she seldom blushes; and
it is impossible to shock her." The lexicographers William and Mary
Morris suggest that these "cat" expressions may have originated even
earlier, first used in girls' schools. Cat's pajamas ]
Whiskers help the cat feel his way around. Whiskers are so sensitive that they can detect the slightest directional change in a breeze . . .
. . . a cat's whiskers are also a good indicator of his mood.
When a cat is angry or feels defensive, the whiskers will be pulled
back. Otherwise, when the cat is happy, curious or content, the
whiskers will be more relaxed and pushed forward.
But the whisker's primary use is to help a cat judge whether or not he'll fit through an opening.
And we all know that cats greatly enjoy fitting through openings, especially those we want them to not fit through, like kitchen cabinet doors.
* Note that HowStuffWorks, which one expects to be very 21st century, is still stuck in the singular- male- gender 80's. Apparently all cats, for example, are male. I thought that maybe they just trade off, but no. A quick perusal of the site demonstrates that these geeks think boys is all there is (unless, of course, the subject is specifically female.) One would think they would know more about how things work.
As is probably obvious from the paucity of posts, I am a bit less well than usual. This means that Spike has more opportunity to insist on attention, as I am not otherwise occupied. And never fear, Boo gets her share.
Midnight. A knock at the door. Open it? Better had. Three heavy cats, mean and bad.
They offer protection. I ask, 'What for?' The Boss-cat snarls, 'You know the score. Listen man and listen good
If you wanna stay in the neighbourhood, Pay your dues or the toms will call And wail each night on the backyard wall.
Mangle the flowers, and as for the lawn a smelly minefield awaits you at dawn.' These guys meant business without a doubt
Three cans of tuna, I handed them out. They then disappeared like bats into hell Those bad, bad cats from the CPL.
This is from Bad Bad Cats, some of whom we know and love. I envy writers who have such a knack (from much craft practice) with rhythm and rhyme, and a touch of dark, feline humor as well. I think I might recommend this book for a bit of weekend entertainment: