Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, January 8, 1995 TAG: 9501070076
SECTION: EDITORIALS PAGE: G-3 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: ELIZABETH STROTHER EDITORIAL WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
I have suffered, my friends, every time I have proposed writing about one subject that is dear to me, a topic, I maintain, that is among the weightier ones considered on these pages - certainly in the case of Binky, 16 pounds, 2 ounces last time he visited the vet. A case could be made that Ginny, at 9-11, is a mere bit of fluff, but the Bink is unarguably a heavyweight in any serious public forum.
Still, I am ridiculed when I want to write about my cats.
The sneering, snarling curs who are my colleagues or, slightly more accurately, the sneering, snarling cur who is my editor heaves a deep sigh and affects a look of martyred patience whenever I propose to write a column about, well, you know. Even though I have written about them a total of once. Not counting today.
OK, twice. I have to concede to my skeptical boss that there was another column, not about these cats, but their predecessor.
"Didn't you have pets when you were a kid?" I asked in exasperation the last time I proposed a kitty column and got that pained (he says bemused) look in response. Yes, he replied with no noticeable glow of warm reminiscence, he did have a pet once.
A fish.
Well, friends, it is validation time.
The readers have spoken. The results of a phone-in survey - which, highly credible and credentialed academicians would agree (if I would but ask them), are unscientific and extremely unreliable - show that readers rate as the No. 1 news story in Western Virginia in 1994: the Roanoke County cat ordinance.
In the year of battering ice storms and an unsolved mass murder; the year of heated disputes over roads smart and/or dumb, take your pick; the year in which the remembrance of D-Day 50 years ago put this tiny part of America briefly at the center of the world stage, in this remarkable year, the county cat ordinance was the most significant story. To readers who called InfoLine, anyway.
Newsroom editors were astounded, and some office critic quickly pronounced that the ballot box had been stuffed. There's no way to know whether this is true, but I figure for some people it just has to be, no matter what the reality. For news gatherers, regulating cat ownership is just so ... boring.
And if editors and reporters are truly out of touch with the public on this issue, who can blame them, really. Even Elmer Hodge was stunned that the little ol' cat ordinance would snag first place. And, as Roanoke County administrator, Hodge is in a position to see how high feelings run among cat owners and cat haters. The ordinance has put the county dab in the middle of its neighborhoods' cat fights.
I'd like to say right here that, alone among my colleagues and your public servants, I understood all along the significance of the cat issue in the lives of readers. I'd like to make that perfectly clear - but, as the late Richard Nixon said, it would be wrong. When I saw the survey results, I was flabbergasted too.
But oh, so happy.
Because here was vindication, my friends. Love them or hate them, people are interested in cats. Hee-hee-hee.
Of course, the balloting provided no way to find out whether the voters favored or opposed the cat ordinance, and I have the uncomfortable feeling that a lot of voters' interest in cats is mainly in getting rid of them.
But, while I understand that hordes of feral cats would create a nuisance, I have to assume there are lots of cat lovers out there, even among folks who support - indeed, demanded - the restrictions.
Domesticated, cats are such delightful creatures.
Take Ginny, a strictly indoor cat who is sweet-natured and playful and just loads of help around the house.
I was pretty sure reporters and readers alike had missed the story of the year, brought to my attention by Ginny, which was that a plague of crickets had descended on Roanoke. I had the evidence in my basement. But John Arbogast, the city extension agent, tells me no; there may have been a few more around than average this fall, but "not that many more."
Not that survived, anyway. Routinely when I arrived home this fall, I would find a fresh little cricket corpse in the basement. Then I started noticing the parts: I'd sweep up a little black, jagged thing. Ew, a cricket leg. Then a little black orb with, what was that on it? Antenna! Gross - a cricket head!
Have I mentioned what a gentle cat Ginny is?
To my horror, though, bugs are merely toys to her, and really neat ones, too, because they move on their own. She jumps and chases after the toys I buy and make for her, little fuzzies that Binky, with massive dignity, chooses to ignore. But bugs are best of all, a truth written on her bright-eyed, eager face the day she jumped up next to me as I sat reading and, with care and pride, dropped a live cricket on my knee.
My startled whoop and quick stomp on the slightly mangled creature must have looked, through cat's eyes, like I was really having fun. A few nights later, I awoke to a suspicious pouncing among the covers on my bed. In the dark, with dread, I peered at Ginny's little paws. There - ack! - was a live cricket in my bed!
The ruckus I raised fighting my way out of the blankets, leaping from half-sleep to full hysteria, and snagging and dispatching the unfortunate bug made quite an impression on Ginny. She brought me no more crickets.
I'm sure she really got the message. Or the last bug.
Another cat story for readers who, data show, really want to know.
by CNB