"You will always be lucky if you know how to make friends with strange cats." - Colonial proverb

Oriental Cat: Inspiration for Qiao Miao

The summer before my daughter entered middle school, we acquired a kitten. My daughter named him Meowbert Mallory George III despite the fact that he had no predecessor. We called him "Meowie" for short. Like most cats, he proved highly intelligent despite the fact that he worshiped the great god Refrigerator (he adored raw eggs).  


One day, when I was struggling to develop Penny's adventures, a cat walked in unannounced and neatly rescued Penny from her dilemma (and me from mine--I had only finished two chapters, and already I was stuck). Penny had just escaped from the men who made her sister vanish; she had hidden under the tables of a spice shop. Enter, Qiao Miao--the clever cat full of himself and his own secret wisdom. (I don't speak Chinese, but his onomatopoeic name intrigued me). 

When my younger son read that chapter, the antics of Qiao Miao evoked memories of Meowie--and I felt supremely satisfied. Isn't that what writing should do?  Make us feel and experience and remember? I felt lucky that a curious oriental cat would stoop to make an appearance in my story. 

I fear, however, that even now Qiao Miao is giving me a look--that same incredulous and disdainful gaze that Meowie bestowed upon me at 3:00 one morning when I swooped him up, set him on the edge of the kitchen sink, and sternly charged him with fulfilling his sole household duty--to kill the mouse trapped in the stainless steel basin.  

Meowie's look said it all: "You're kidding! You don't know how to do this yourself? You mean I actually have to demonstrate? Oh, all right, if you're really that dense." Then with one efficient stroke, he caught the mouse with the claws on one paw, snapped the spine with his teeth, and departed with an air of disgust, leaving the carcass behind.


I shall always be grateful--both for Meowie and for Qiao Miao. I am sure that Penny was grateful too, to  such a friend:



The sight of a cat startled her. It sat straight across from her, beneath the spice stands, staring at her curiously. Its almond-shaped green eyes shone like jewels in the slatted shadows from the bamboo shade. Its large ears twitching at Penny’s gaze, the cat turned its wedge-shaped head toward the bamboo shade, as if peeking between the slats to see if anyone was watching. Penny admired the cat’s fine, straight nose. Entranced, she drew another picture–one of the cat looking through the slats of bamboo, its whippy-pointed tail flicking in the air.

When she had finished, the cat walked daintily toward her and inspected the drawing in a disinterested fashion. Then it licked the fur on its neck and resumed its post. Not knowing what to think of its behavior, Penny stuffed her belongings into her backpack and took another sip from her water bottle. The cat cocked its head politely to the side and cast a questioning look in her direction, as if to ask, “May I?”

Penny smiled at the thought of the cat talking to her. How silly! But she set the cap of her water bottle on the ground anyway and filled it to the brim with water. The cat closed its eyes and nodded once, as if in thanks. Then it walked with precise steps to the cap and lapped up every drop. Penny held up the bottle to refill the cap, but the cat shook its head once and walked off, swishing its tail high in the air.