Conversations with Wellington

I don't mean to assert that the cat is the world's hottest animal; a statement of such proportions would represent such a stark deviation from my core values and personal branding that it would be cause for concern. Rather, this newsletter dispatch is here to celebrate a specific cat for how Hot he is. That cat is Wellington Hollier I, resident of Clinton Hill, and he is most likely the Hottest Cat Alive.

Wellington is hot despite the fact that he was born in Texas. He graced a Kiwi-New Yorker couple with his presence about two years ago. They were looking for a hypoallergenic feline companion, as his father, the Kiwi, is rather sensitive to dander. Before he boarded a private plane to travel from his birthplace in Texas to a kingly palace overlooking Central Park in New York City, little bunches of his hair were sent in express envelopes across the country so that his soon-to-be-father could sleep with them under his pillow.

Wellington is a Siberian Forest Cat of a dusty white coat and turquoise eyes. Siberians are known for their affection and heft, and Wellington has plenty of both. While the largest Siberians can weigh up to twenty pounds, Wellington must clock in at about twelve; there is certainly gravity to his presence and the untrained arm will grow weary under his influence. When he walks, he looks like he has bloomers on, and when he is bored, he will put his toys in his food bowl. Wellington enjoys lounging in varying positions across his apartment, stretching his front paws over whatever book you happen to be reading, chasing flies, and lamb (most favourite) or chicken-flavoured treats. He does not like the water spritzer and sometimes his poop remains attached to his skirt.

Wellington's charm has been featured by international publications. Last summer, Señor Wellington was the star of a spread of Hola! magazine, where his and his grandmother's glamourous lifestyles were stylishly represented. He was also featured in his apartment's StreetEasy advertisement. Frankly, without his eyes, it would have been hard to spruce up what was otherwise a drab, lifeless space.

We sat down with Wellington this past weekend to hear about his life and what makes him so Hot. He didn't have a lot to say, but the few glimpses we gained to his thoughts were nuggets of pure wisdom. One would expect nothing less from a cat so regal.

Upon arrival, I asked Wellington how he was doing—it has been close to two months since the last time I saw him, and we had plenty on which to catch up. Wellington has recently moved from his first home in Morningside Heights to Clinton Hill, and he didn't hide that he is upset by the transition. He used to have two bedrooms—one office and one recreational space—but given soaring New York rental prices, he now has a combined office-and-bedroom, and the lack of separation between work and play is starting to affect his sleep. While his parents moved, he spent the weekend at his grandmother's in the Upper East Side, where he was probably overfed, and since arriving in the new space, he has attempted to dart out the front door in search of his former home several times.

After his mother served me a cup of tea, Wellington displayed some of his trademark Hot behaviours, including the "lie down and roll extension" in which he generously exposes his furry belly (but you aren't allowed to touch it) and the "let me just sit here in the spotlight", which shouldn’t be confused for the "casual seat", since he performs it, well, under a chosen spotlight. Once the first part of his performance was completed, I cooed and clapped, as was called for. My flattering reactions allowed him to realize (dare I say, remember?) that I was worth his time. He sauntered over to where I was sitting and gave me a signal to communicate that I was both allowed and expected to bring him to my lap. While many might confuse that act for overt affection, I recognize the gesture for what it really was: a very Hot game of mild disinterest. It was completely clear that while he might have been gracing me with attention, he very well could have come over because I happened to be sitting in his favourite chair.

As he stretched out on my legs, Welly shared updates from the two months we were apart. Over the Christmas, he explained, while his parents spent a month visiting family in New Zealand, Wellington enjoyed a "stay-cation" in the home of an Australian couple who also live in NYC. He hadn't seemed to form any judgments on the Australian versus Kiwi debate, much to his father's chagrin (his "miaow" seems unaffected by prolonged exposure to the rival accent). When his parents returned to pick him up, his sitters had tears in their eyes. "They loved me", he explained. His parents proudly recalled that Wellington purred and howled in the Taxi home.

Beyond that, he didn’t have a lot to share. His mother bought him a space-themed scratcher which he enjoys for napping rather than scratching (it is Hot, he notes, to go against the grain and tacitly reject expectations, except for the odd moment when you know that playing along will earn you points, treats, or social media followers). He's happy that his mother is back to writing at her desk, and has slowly forgiven her for the abandonment.

After taking a short nap on my lap, he got a little restless and attempted to bite me—he had been Cute for a little too long, and needed to keep me on my toes. His mother framed this aggression with the phrase, "Hotness is a combination of danger and beauty ... or as Nietzsche put it, 'the claw under the glove.'"

What makes Wellington hot, you still ask? It's his looks, of course, but it’s also his dedication to his craft: rest. He’s affectionate without being overwhelming. And it’s clear that he looks out for nothing or no one other than himself. I asked him about his next week, and he shared that he doesn't have plans; he doesn't need them. He has no concerns in the world—he happens to life, not life to him. It was an honour to spend a handful of hours with a creature who exudes such pure, unbridled Yummy Mummy energy (he would likely be upset if he knew I wrote that about him).

Let Wellington be an inspiration to us all.

Outtakes

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