Books like Cleveland Amory's Compleat Cat

I could say Cleveland Amory is an acquired taste, but whenever that cliche comes to mind I instantly think of Harry Dean Stanton's smart-ass riposte to (was it Crispin Glover?) in Almereyda's Twister: "It seems to me you can acquire a taste for anything, but the question is, why would you want to?" That's not the movie with the cows flying around. That's the schlub Twister. And so it is with Amory. One wonders why one is bothering to try to acquire a taste for an author who is a self-admitted curmudgeon and who resorts to such cheap tricks as making a cute cat (always prominently featured on the cover) the sugar candy to draw you close enough to his book to possibly check it out, and then, KA-CHING!, make the purchase. Well, the strategy works, as this is one in a series of very successful books, which are really autobiographical. Human autobiographical, that is. Polar Bear (the titular kitty) does make an appearance every now and then, but one quickly gets the impression Mr. Amory is mostly conducting his assay of Polar Bear's character via the psychological mechanism of projection. Polar Bear is getting old. Mr. Amory is getting old. Polar Bear is intolerant of most of humanity. Mr. Amory is intolerant of most of humanity. Polar Bear is constipated. Mr. Amory is constipated. And so on. This installment in the series focuses mostly on aging, both feline and human, and Amory reflects on his long and sometimes lucky life in a somewhat acerbic style. He is occasionally funny. He is occasionally quotable. But mostly this remains Reader's Digest humor. It's certainly a safe book to give to that aunt or uncle who disapproves of most of your dicey reading. ("Who is this Genet, dear? Might I enjoy his books?") Amory was the president of two major animal societies, one of which (Fund for Animals) he founded. The other one he helmed was the Anti-Vivisectionist Society (ewww, you probably are saying here, and I can't blame you--who still does vivisections?!) He seems to have led a charmed life, many failed marriages notwithstanding, and had several careers besides this feline franchise, including stints as a somewhat successful t.v. writer. One gets the impression that he feels much of his life happened to him by accident, but he remains amused by this state of affairs, which renders him a somewhat likeable narrator. The book could have used more Polar Bear and a little less Cleveland Amory, but since he had a number of famous and wealthy friends (The Hepburn family, for example) there is some gossip, which is rarely titillating but sometimes pleasantly distracting. By now you probably realize this is pretty much a bathroom book or bathtub book, a book to read on a day when you're down with the flu and the television offerings suck. He hasn't any great insights into the workings of life and won't venture a guess about any ultimate or higher meaning to the thing, but he might make you smile or giggle occasionally.(He pretty much avoids life when possible. He is a bit of a window licker.) And you'll probably feel a little like a nerd, since you'll be aware of how Reader's Digest this sort of humor is. I mean if you actually laugh at it. I admit I did. Occasionally. What I continually marveled at is the fact that Mr. Amory at the time of writing this book is a superannuated, fussy man living alone with a cat, a man who is, miraculously, NOT gay. I kept waiting for some detail to give it all away and drop the G bomb, but it never happened. He is a straight fussbucket in fuzzy slippers. Would I read another of the books in this series dedicated to the hagiography of kitties? I hate to admit that the answer is in the affirmative. I too have fuzzy slippers and enjoy a good cat every now and then. But I execrate Reader's Digest humor in general, and think Reader's Digest should be brought up on charges in an International Court for the atrocities they committed when they published those millions of abridged books. That was a low point in human history. Just because meals can be turned into t.v. dinners doesn't mean books have to undergo the same fate.