James' World 2

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I have absolutely no idea what makes Vincenzo a good cat. It’s a fact I keep to myself when I meet his owner, Donna Dzurishin, at the Garden State Cat Expo in New Jersey in mid-July. At one of the biggest cat shows in the country, my ignorance puts me in the minority. Plus, Donna’s got that warm kind of energy that almost compels you to hug her — it’s not clear if you need it, she needs it, or maybe you both do. You definitely can’t hug Vincenzo or any of the cats competing. The first rule of the cat show is that you don’t touch the cats (unless you ask first, and, as I come to learn, are prepared to be turned down).

Vincenzo is a solid black Persian — a black cat dusted in gray, with a long fluffy tail and round copper eyes that are hard to make out amid all the fur. People sometimes tell Donna, who has long black hair, that they look alike. Her daughter makes fun of her for it. Vincenzo is an “absolutely beautiful boy,” per Donna, and her first show cat — they’ve only been competing since February. There’s been a learning curve in navigating the show circuit, not to mention Vincenzo’s high-maintenance grooming routine, which rivals that of a Kardashian. “I’m obsessive-compulsive, so I put everything into it,” Donna says.

The idea that someone — let alone hundreds of people — would put their cat into a contest is foreign to me. I cannot fathom caring about ranking cats or undertaking the apparent effort being put in here. Why one cat might be “better” than the next is a mystery.

Donna describes what it is that makes Vincenzo special — his stocky body, his short legs, his nice round head. “Did you see him?” she asks. I don’t want to admit that the visual isn’t helping much in terms of my personal comprehension. Our conversation is cut short because the pair have been called to the ring. Donna pulls a nonplussed Vincenzo from his tent, fluffs him up as best she can, and hurries off. I wish her luck but then decide to follow — in the ring she’s headed to, Vincenzo is in the running for best cat, and I may as well see what happens.

As we walk over, Donna’s friend pulls me aside. She tells me Donna’s husband passed away recently, and cat shows have given her new life. The stakes suddenly feel high.

I am not a cat person. Whenever friends ask why I don’t have one — after all, I am a single woman in her 30s — my response is always the same: There’s too big a risk your cat hates you. Cat owners’ stories are basically, “Oh my God, you won’t believe what Fluffy just did! So cute!” And then they tell you about something objectively destructive and, occasionally, gross. Even if your cat likes you, it’s sometimes distant and perhaps kind of an asshole — most cats are. It’s not a bad thing, really. (See: Grumpy Cat, a cultural icon.) They’re semi-wild animals we have as pets, which is a whole separate, complicated issue on its own. The main expectation you can have of a cat is that you can’t have a lot of expectations.

Cats are the ones that got themselves into this situation in the first place, historically speaking. They’ve been living with humans for 4,000 years, dating back to the ancient Egyptians, who deeply admired them, and probably even earlier. (In the Middle Ages, they were associated with witches and devilry, so ancient times were probably a much better era to be a cat.)

Unlike other pets, cats are self-domesticated, because humans — and their crops and grains and food — attract rodents. Cats figured out that where there are people, there are rats and mice, so they started hanging around. They came to America as furry little colonists, on ships.

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Mary Kirkpatrick for Vox

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