BY Diane Lovejoy
When I first realized I was heading rapidly down the road to becoming a Cat Lady, I did not have my full wits about me. I guess you could say I was rather naive, as I had not foreseen that this road would resemble a minefield, and that navigating it would require me to develop a thicker skin. Because I was entirely comfortable thinking of myself as a Cat Lady, I was unprepared for the onslaught of invective and mean-girl insults that would rise to the surface at any moment.
Still, I knew I loved cats dearly, and that was all that mattered. To me, Cat Lady was an auspicious nickname, and I never failed to respond whenever called. In fact, Cat Lady became my clarion call to action.
I suspect that I initially bored my friends, colleagues, and family members with my endless monologues about the joys of caring for multiple cats. At one point in time, I lived with a group of ten: Lucius, Lydia, Lillie, Leo, Linus, LB, TJ, Perkins, Miss Tommie, and Alvar. Invariably, the most vocal naysayers among the people I knew would interrupt me to ask, “Got it, but are you on board with the image that the Cat Lady brings to mind?” Cue the ominous organ music that accompanies a silent horror film, because the Cat Lady cometh.
I wondered increasingly about the conventional unflattering image of the Cat Lady. Did a crazed scientist invent her? Did she materialize as the figment of a writer’s fertile imagination? Was she a composite figure put together by a traumatized sociologist? I longed for the authentic Cat Lady to please stand up.
The cultural image of the Cat Lady runs deep, to the extent that she could serve as the “un”-woman’s ambassador. Have you noticed how often the negative prefix un- is attached to so many adjectives describing the Cat Lady? She is perceived as an unsightly woman: unkempt, unfashionable—hardly a style maverick. The Cat Lady is typically unmarried, “always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” Put bluntly, the Cat Lady is woefully alone, a borderline hermit who comes unhinged easily but gets quickly into her comfort zone when she feeds stray cats. Cat Ladies may require a room of their own, one to share with their presumed hordes of felines. But, for supposedly obvious reasons, Cat Ladies do not need man caves in their homes.
The common assumption is that, because the Cat Lady lives without a man or a child, her colonies of cats fill a vast void. Clearly, the odds are stacked against the Cat Lady, who might as well have joined the ranks of the witches, trolls, and hags who inhabit the fanciful tales collected by the Brothers Grimm.
And then there is the Crazy Cat Lady, who is the butt of simplistic jokes and a recurring figure in syndicated comic strips, but a role model to many who appreciate, as I do, that women who are crazy for cats are probably not so different in their psychological makeup from men who are rabid sports fans. C’mon, Cat Ladies, don’t we deserve to be on a level playing field with rowdy guys? Fervent passions and slightly eccentric obsessions keep life interesting and unpredictable. Nonetheless, it admittedly takes some fancy footwork to dance around the triple negative of Crazy Cat Lady, and I cringe when I hear those three words. In fact, most of my friends who are Cat Ladies bristle at the characterization.
I knew from the get-go that I did not fit neatly inside the frame that has come to box in the Cat Lady of lore (and yore). When I adopted my first stray cat, Lucius, more than fourteen years ago, I had already been happily married to my husband, Michael, for twelve years. And while my career as an editor of museum publications and art books has never been accompanied by a salary that permits me to shop at Chanel and other high-style emporiums, I was always pleased to be complimented on my wardrobe choices. I was a married and fashion-loving career woman who was not embarrassed to disclose her love affair with felines. I liked being utterly Cat Ladylike.
While I was rescuing cats—seventeen during four bliss-filled, albeit logistically challenging, years—and each one was revealing to me something new about myself, I became determined to rescue the Cat Lady from the Hall of Shame. I was eager to overturn the indictment against the Cat Lady, motivated by the maxim “A woman’s work is never done.” Yet a funny thing happened along the way on my myth-debunking mission. In spite of the derogatory image of the Cat Lady, I discovered a treasure trove of diverse images depicting chic Cat Ladies.
I questioned seriously why anyone could think that Cat Lady chic is an oxymoron. Not even close. My “recovery” work was going to be easier than I had anticipated. To my great delight, the chic Cat Lady was ever present. As indisputably as cats have nine lives, Cat Ladies throughout history have dressed to the nines.
My visually driven expedition has led me to artists’ and photographers’ archives, where I was struck repeatedly by the convergence of the “wow” and “meow” factors. Glitz! Glamour! Allure! Cat Ladies are beautiful people, too, on the right side of the velvet ropes that serve as lines of demarcation in what has forever been an image-conscious world. You either are a member of the club or you are not.
I have it on authority that the Cat Lady is “in.” Granted, photographers are masters of artifice and sleight of hand, and I cannot overlook the fact that many of the images I have selected for this book were staged by photographers with specific female muses (and kitty quotas) in mind. A purist might argue that my handpicked images are manufactured, too. I am willing to concede that point. Yet the pictures gathered here collectively challenge the convenient, ultimately damaging image of the Cat Lady that has permeated society for far too long. I should also note that the images of chic Cat Ladies do not represent the “after” versions of the “before-and-after” transformations of women that are published regularly in fashion magazines. The camera focused on the Cat Lady does not lie: these superbly photogenic ladies did not go under the Photoshop knife, so to speak, to emerge in pictures with cats. In many cases, because of their classic beauty, the Cat Ladies were born chic. In other cases, chic can be defined as an empowering state of mind.
Artists throughout history have presented an equally attractive Cat Lady—a woman who is poised, put-together, and supremely confident. Beauty is indeed skin-deep as well as in the eyes of the beholders—not only we Cat Ladies, drawn to admire our predecessors and contemporaries, but also the cats themselves shown in the images. They are lucky creatures, assigned to front-row seats with their chic Cat Ladies.
In each instance, I believe that the woman who was photographed or painted or sketched assumes an additional aura—let’s call it the Cat Lady halo effect—because of the cat who is tucked beside her or rests at her feet, or who cuddles comfortably on her lap, or who is draped around her neck as grandly as an Hermès silk scarf. The images also show fascinating resonances and kinships across the board: there are similar graceful gestures and positions to note among the ladies and cats. Elegant women cradle elegant cats. Savvy cats attract sophisticated ladies. In several photographs, Cat Ladies sweep their cats off the ground to meet their gaze, and they are virtually dancing cheek to cheek (or chic to chic).
Cats are notoriously fastidious creatures who like to preen and to be praised, if not worshipped, for their perfection. So it is only fitting that photographers and artists have frequently paired felines with irresistibly chic women who are accustomed to being admired.
Speaking of beauty, I am a Cat Lady who believes that all cats are beautiful, no matter their age, shape, or size—from tortoiseshells to tabbies, from calicoes to Maine coons. Black cats also have their day in court in this book. No more superstitions, evil curses, and bad luck accompany these sleek felines, several of whom resemble miniature panthers. Lauren Bacall, Carole Lombard, and Carla Bruni-Sarkozy are among the notable women proudly holding black cats. And long before selfies and the now-ubiquitous kissy-face, photographer Dora Kallmus made a striking self-portrait that incorporates the kitty face of a black beauty.
Researching images of chic Cat Ladies amounted to an exhilarating creative exercise. I began to fantasize about building a Cat Lady empire populated by a bevy of chic women with their cats. I have never suffered from extreme anxiety about being branded a Cat Lady, so why not buff, polish, and refurbish the Cat Lady brand? In my new world order, the Cat Lady brand will be identified instantly by its interlocking CL letters. The monogram must be specified in a stylish font, and there will be no scarlet letters pinned to the chests of Cat Ladies. I envision this monogram on a classic houndstooth tailored jacket. I must consult with Ralph Lauren, who knows a thing or two about premium global brands and Harris tweed.
As I was admiring images that document the chic Cat Lady, I started classifying them according to my own themes. I formed a group consisting of picture-perfect Cat Ladies who dress smartly and accessorize appropriately for their time, whether in an Egyptian, exotic, floor-length gown that could be a precursor of apparel designed by Etro, or in a sumptuously colored Renaissance robe with complementary turban-style headwear, or in Pre-Raphaelite diaphanous clothing. There is also the redheaded beauty whose cultured pearl necklace doubles as a cat toy, and one of the arbiters of twentieth-century interior design, Elsie de Wolfe (Lady Mendl), wearing white gloves as she holds two cats and, undoubtedly, provides white-glove service to them. Surely all these cats approved of their ladies’ sartorial splendor as demonstrated from head to toe.
At the opposite end of the spectrum are the Cat Ladies who wear no clothes while in the company of cats and, by default, do not appear on the annual international best-dressed list. One of the head-turning images I found is, per the artist, intended to be an allegory of music. May I suggest that this painting is all about a multitasking Cat Lady: she is naked, holding a musical book in one hand and a viola in the other. A hefty white cat stands guard. We Cat Ladies know all about juggling responsibilities 24/7. Who needs allegories? More intriguingly, what is it about cats that prompts some women to lounge or daydream in the buff with them? The stark-naked Cat Ladies pictured in this book got out of their proverbial straitjackets and slipped into something much more comfortable. Perhaps they are cut from the same uninhibited cloth, or their sense of self is so assured that they manage to look stylish without wearing a stitch.
A variation on the undressed theme is the seductive photograph showing Ann Sheridan wearing peekaboo lace—an image that stares down the stereotype of the frumpy, disheveled Cat Lady in a frayed bathrobe. Animal magnetism works both ways, from kitties to It girls. By the way, did you know that Ursula Andress, the first Bond girl, is a Cat Lady?
Posing regally, and fully clothed, has been de rigueur for the legendary female stars of the silver screen. I gravitated toward images of some of Hollywood’s leading ladies, lured by their exquisiteness and charmed by their feline companions. Lights, camera, Cat Lady! I can almost hear the E! Entertainment correspondents chatting excitedly with one another: “Who is the Cat Lady wearing?”
If only I could look like Dolores del Rio, who cut a ravishing figure and radiated high-wattage style. The Mexican-born actress, who began her career during the silent era, was considered to be the personification of beauty in Latin America, and her glamour resonated worldwide. Here, Miss del Rio is impeccably coiffed, her wavy black hair artfully framing her face. The movie star snuggles with her black cat, Joan, and it appears they are settling in together to spend a cozy evening by a roaring fire. I imagine that Joan was mesmerized by her beguiling Cat Lady.
Like many women, I have fantasized that one day—and this requires a leap of faith—I will awaken and bear an uncanny resemblance to Audrey Hepburn. Long before I became a Cat Lady, I was introduced by my parents to Miss Hepburn’s films and ranked Breakfast at Tiffany’s as my favorite, for several reasons. I had New York City in my blood (on my father’s side), I owned some affordable silver trinkets from Tiffany’s, and I wanted the Givenchy black dress that the character Holly Golightly wears in the unforgettable opening scene of the film. I confess to collecting black dresses, despite their propensity for revealing cat hair (and every Cat Lady carries a pocket-size lint brush, anyway).
Since becoming a Cat Lady, I have watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s with sustained interest because I focus on Holly’s interactions with her officially unnamed ginger “Cat.” I’ve forgiven Holly for not being a super-attentive, empathetic Cat Lady in the beginning of the film. Given her all-nighter lifestyle, it’s understandable that she opts for cocktails and foie gras over dispensing Friskies. But Holly makes up for lost time in the end when she rescues “Cat” from the rain-soaked alleyways of New York. She does so flawlessly in a light-beige Burberry trench coat. Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly is an impossibly chic Cat Lady whose style I aspire to emulate.
I also have long been fascinated by the delicate loveliness of Vivien Leigh. One of my great-aunts was a gossip columnist for the Hollywood Reporter, and she and Miss Leigh became fast friends upon their introduction in the late 1930s. I treasure an autographed letter of Miss Leigh’s from the 1960s that I inherited from my aunt, for this faded piece of stationery—with the salutation “Radie, Darling”—connects me to the woman who, in my mind, is everlastingly Scarlett O’Hara. All along, in real life Miss Scarlett was yet another passionate woman who adored felines, and she was photographed with her Siamese cats on numerous occasions.
If I were organizing a chick-flick festival for Cat Ladies, Bell, Book, and Candle would take top billing. Kim Novak plays Gil Holroyd, a va-va-voom chic art gallery owner and modern-day witch who has a codependent relationship with her “familiar,” Pyewacket. And what Cat Lady fashionista does not covet the reversible leopard print–lined cape and Jean Louis gowns that Gil wears with unmistakable panache?
Come to think of it, leopard has always been in vogue. I’m sure you have noticed it can be a jungle out there, which could explain why fashion designers never retire their feline-inspired attire from the runways. I bet that if your wardrobe includes anything with leopard, your need for Cat Lady verification will be bypassed at the front door.
French-born Cat Ladies are an exceptionally fashionable breed. They have that inimitable je ne sais quoi in spades. The photographs in this book of Brigitte Bardot, Juliette Gréco, and Jeanne Moreau, among others, prove that meow is très chic.
Whenever I think of Grace Kelly, one image stands out. That is why images are so powerful—once they are etched indelibly in our memories, they do not recede easily. I see Miss Kelly as the beatific bride who glides down the aisle of a historic church to become the princess of Monaco. I smiled when I happened upon the glorious image of Grace Kelly with a tabby kitten, and this feline must have been ecstatic to be held closely by the serenely chic star.
While selecting images for this book, I learned of a rare photograph of Marilyn Monroe that had surfaced. Robert Vose, who snapped the picture of Grace Kelly, also took the magical photograph of Miss Monroe with her kitten, Serafina, during the filming of Let’s Make Love. It would be difficult to top hearing “Here, kitty” in the whispery voice of Marilyn Monroe, who proved that Cat Ladies and sex kittens can be mentioned in the same breath.
Cat Ladies instinctively know the ideal tone of voice to use to coax and pacify their cats. I never knew that cats had benefited from hearing Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis’s memorably breathy voice. Of the countless images of Jackie O, the ultimate style icon in my personal scrapbook, I am particularly fond of the one I found of her before she became First Lady. Mrs. Kennedy sits majestically, like a mama kitty on duty, watching protectively over her daughter, Caroline, and two cats.
I also associate Jackie O with celebrating the highest expressions of creativity. Just as the First Lady ushered into the White House a new standard for culture and refinement, I have dreamed of becoming the standard-bearer for Cat Lady culture. Imagine the eclectic soirées attended by artists and entrepreneurs, writers and models, singers and dancers— and their cats are invited, too. The decades dissolve, and I open my front door to greet my accomplished guests, including Tracey Emin, Leonor Fini, Georgia O’Keeffe, and Lauren Pears; Colette, Margaret Mitchell, and Veruschka; Lana Del Rey, Carrie Ann Inaba, and Diana Ross. Hillary Clinton drops by and delivers an impromptu speech, with a firing-up-the-base conclusion: “Let not the Cat Lady be obscured by type!” My favorite country-and-western crooner, Dolly Parton, is the last guest to arrive. She serenades us with her biggest Billboard hit, “I Will Always Love You,” and every cat in the house laps it up.
To all the Cat Ladies in the world, the spotlight is yours, always. I am honored to present, in the following pages, eternally chic Cat Ladies who have come from across the globe to live on the same stage. I hope very much that my fellow Cat Ladies are enjoying their conversations with one another, and also laughing all the way. The joke is no longer on us.
So the next time someone says, with undisguised concern, “Oooh, you are really a Cat Lady,” promise me that you will embrace your status and smile. We have every good reason to celebrate. The lookbook that is in your hands makes the case for our impressive lineage.