Then I turned five. Too soon? Perhaps, for there's at least one woman who's living out her feral fantasies. Courtesy of the London Telegraph, meet Nano from Norway:
Nano claims she realised she was a cat when she was 16 years old, and has adopted feline mannerisms since. [Nano claims] she has a superior sense of hearing and sight which allows her to hunt mice in the dark.
|What all the cool cats are wearing these days.|
Hunt mice in the dark? Nano, baby, you've got seven million New Yorkers waiting to take you in. And guess what. She even likes to walk on all fours. That hasn't happened to me since I chugged six cheap draft beers in a row when I was 19.
You might think all this would look pretty silly for a human. But Nano wears fake cat ears and a fake cat tail to make the image complete. That's more like it.
Of course, there's more to being a cat than meets the claws:
Nano claims to possess many feline characteristics including a hatred of water and the ability to communicate simply by meowing.
Some men might find that meowing business a turn-on. But a woman who doesn't bathe isn't going to ring the bell for anyone except the staunchest of olfactophiles. Not that Nano's totally unhygienic, however, for she wears "fluffy pink paws" in order to groom herself. Well, thank God for that.
Does Nano have psychological problems? Or is she merely crazy? Neither, according to the experts:
"I realised I was a cat when I was 16 when doctors and psychologists found out what was "the thing" with me. Under my birth there was a genetic defect."
I don't know what "under my birth" means -- perhaps that's a Norwegian phrase that doesn't quite translate to English. Whatever -- the key is that she's got a genetic defect. Meaning... one of her ancestors was ravished by a Norwegian Forest Cat, maybe?
No matter. As Lady Gaga would remind you, she was born this way.
|Ready to pounce on Tweety Bird.|
Cynic that I am, I have my doubts about Nona's feline claims. First of all, I've never seen a cat with any facial piercings, let alone four. Then there's her diet. Is her fridge filled with gravlaks and sheep's head instead of Meow Mix and Fancy Feast? If so, I think we can safely consider her a Norwegus Humanus.
And then there's the matter of where and how Nona.. er, you know. Manages her excreta. As long as she's not bathing, there better be a litterbox in the tub, or I'm calling shenanigans on the whole thing.
I'm writing this now, because -- as with the "parrot man" who had his ears cut off and wants to replace his nose with a beak -- we're now on the verge of what can only be called trans-species sexuality. This means that, at some point, my jokes -- as well as your likely confusion -- will make us trans-speciesphobes.
Madonna will curse you from the stage. Protests will erupt outside your homes. The LGBTQ organizations will have to add another letter to their name. And Nona will get her own Lifetime reality series: Here Kitty!
By the way, sheep's head -- or as they call it, smalahove -- really is a Norwegian delicacy. Maybe that explains things.