My Cat Is a Supermodel

It was a Friday afternoon in March when I listened to voice mail from Gloria, the animal agent in California who had gotten a cat of mine a photo shoot for Arm & Hammer Cat Litter last year.  We call him Bugger, but he was named "Spike" in the advertisement which has been in many magazines.  Since I breed and show Maine Coon cats and live within driving distance to NYC, sometimes animal agents find me through my website.  The agents' rationale is that show cats are more accustomed to being bathed, traveling, having their pictures taken and putting up with commotion than the average household pet.  Only in the past year have any of my cats been selected though.  

Gloria the Animal Agent sounds like she's been smoking since she was twelve and bit loopy.  She was bidding on a job in Manhattan that needed a Maine Coon for a designer's fashion shoot.  The job requirement was for a brown Maine Coon that could sit, stay and be held by a model at the very upscale Carlisle Hotel.  Not having a lot of details from Gloria, I envisioned a photo shoot in the vast lobby of a grand hotel.  I needed a cat that wouldn't get freaked out in the arms of a tall, skinny woman in heels and expensive clothes, clawing its way out of her arms.  I chose Myra, a beautiful girl who possesses a warm brown, low maintenance coat that wouldn't even need to be bathed.  In addition to being a Triple Grand Champion, Myra's résumé also includes an appearance in a children’s pop-up book called Cat by Matthew Van Fleet.  That was an easy photo shoot at a cat show when she was very young, but she technically does have previous modeling experience.   

I submitted professional pictures taken of Myra a few years ago and at 10:30 that night finally got Gloria's phone call that the designer wanted Myra.  I was instructed to be there by 1 PM the next day.  Good thing we got the job because I'd already packed the large travel cage, litter box, food and grooming supplies into the van.

Myra and I made the uneventful trip to the city, parked in the garage adjacent to the hotel on 76th Street and were escorted to the 22nd floor.  A man with a foreign accent named Mark let me in the suite complete with kitchen, two bedrooms and a major sitting area where the photo shoot was to take place.  Mark informed me that everyone else was in Central Park and should be back in an hour.  I took Myra out and we made ourselves comfortable in the majesty of the room.  The pictures I took with my cell phone don't do it justice.  It had a 16-foot ceiling, fireplace, antique furniture, built in bookcases, grand piano, views on three sides, bouquets of flowers and book collections on art and photography. 

Mark brought me a glass of sparkling water, invited me to share in the food they'd had brought in, showed me around then left me there alone while he went outside to smoke a cigarette.  Me and my cat, my bags, cat hair already covering my navy pants, and a carrier that smelled faintly of cat pee.  Every time after I combed Myra I had to dispose of the gob of hair that she was nervously shedding.  I admit that a few times I just tucked the hairball under the skirt of the upholstered chair.  I'm sure they have people to take care of a little cat hair.  Yep, I belonged here.

I sat in the room on a comfortable chair with Myra and as different people entered the room, each introduced him or herself as if I was important.  A blond lady named Poppy told me she worked with Serge, like that meant something to me.  I found out later that Serge is the designer of the Paule Ka brand that was paying for all this.  When people noticed the cat, they lit up.  I received lots of attention as they petted and admired my reason for being there.  If you're visiting another country and trying to get around in Manhattan, something as real and down to earth as a cat brings out the best in you. 

Although everyone spoke English, when together some spoke their native language which I recognized as French; I took Spanish in school, not French.  Fortunately, none of them smelled like the French citizens I remember from my trip to that country years ago.  I felt like a minority American in New York City.  In the surroundings with the accents, I could easily have been in Europe.  I only met two models, the rest were photographers, assistants, lighting, make-up and hair people.  There were also extra people who just seemed to be there to hang out, all European of course.  And here I was, an American from rural Connecticut, short, frumpy, not-so-slender, heterosexual, covered in cat hair and probably sporting residual chicken poop on my shoes.   

We had to wait until about 5:30 for our photoshoot due to previously scheduled shoots taking place elsewhere in the hotel.  Myra, who had looked so calm and relaxed in the chair for the past four hours, tried to hide under my arm as the room filled with equipment and lighting guys manipulating noisy reflectors around the lights on 8-foot stands.  

After Myra's Hungarian modeling partner was situated on the couch and the hair spray had settled, I finally got to do what I came there for.  I was officially titled a "cat trainer".  Some of them even asked me how many animals I train.  Hey, I just breed and show Maine Coons.  I don't know what their expectations were, but I placed Myra on the back of the couch, her tail hanging down luxuriously and told her to stay.  Myra looked at me, eyes wide, but she stayed put.  She would remain where I put her for about five minutes at a time until someone unintentionally frightened her.  If a person came in through the door behind her, she darted under a chair.  If the hairdresser rushed in to fix the model's hair, Myra bolted.  The photographer finally realized the problem and ordered everyone away from the doorway so Myra wouldn't get spooked.  She tried to get the hair dresser to slow down, but he seemed too impulsive to take a cat into consideration and just didn’t get it.  

After about an hour of posing Myra, getting her to face forward, fetching her out from under the chair and placing her back on the couch, lights flashing until they blew a fuse, we were done.  Overall, Myra did fantastic and stayed put long enough for them to take well over a hundred shots. She looked great, although she kept her ears sideways for most of the shots so she appears angry.  

I was told that the ad should be in Vogue, along with other fashion magazines, around September.  I'll keep you posted.