I was walking through a bookstore recently looking for a book to stimulate my mind. A book on display with a picture of a cat on the cover caught my attention. The title: "I Love My Cat, But My Cat Don’t Give a Damn."

I didn’t buy the book.

I’m not exactly a cat lover, but news about cats keeps coming to my attention. The latest is that a cat museum was opened in North Carolina two years ago. I’m surprised it took me two years to hear about it. It’s the American Museum of the House Cat, and it’s in Sylva, a small town near Ashville. It was opened by Harold Sims, an 84-year-old cat lover and former marine biologist. Cat fanatics have come from as far away as China to see the displays, which includes a cat mummy from ancient Egypt.

The report I read doesn’t explain whether there are any live cats in the museum. I suppose not. Sims also runs a no-kill cat shelter and writes cat poetry. I haven’t read any of the poetry either. He is also building a new museum across the street that will be three times larger than the original –– which is still almost new. If you love cats, you might want to take a trip to Sylva, N.C., to see this wonder.

People who love cats probably believe that cats get a bad rep. Is that because they don’t seem to bond the way dogs do -– because they don’t give a damn? Are they considered cold-hearted? After all, nobody has ever called cats “man’s best friend.” I’ve never heard of a movie about cats like the Lassie movies. I’ve never read about rescue cats for the blind or for veterans with war injuries or PTSD. Are there any?

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I’ve never read about cats in law enforcement, sniffing out drugs or assisting in catching crooks. Are there any guard cats? I’ve never seen a cat shake hands, roll over, retrieve a duck or a cat willing to fetch a ball you throw and bring it back countless times. I just read a report to the effect that if you want to live longer, get a what? A dog.

Somebody needs to speak for cats. Maybe Harold Sims is that guy in North Carolina.

I remember a few years ago, the state of Wisconsin was overrun with feral cats so they established an open season allowing hunters to go out and shoot them. There didn’t seem to be a shortage of hunters. It all seemed like a crude, cruel solution to me.

I’m trying to be fair here, so I’ll have to say this –- I never heard of a dog with nine lives or one that would purr when I stroked it.