My friend Shaken Mama and I have laughed in the past about the concept of people purring and not being able to help themselves, and the kind of trouble this autonomic reaction surely would get you in.
I was reminded of this recently when, for reasons too mundane to recount here, I came to be in possession of an organizational chart for my company that placed me ridiculously high in the ranks, especially factoring in the money I (don't) make, and that I'm, well, I'm just a girl in San Francisco. Come on, now.
There was only one level above me! Holy shit, I thought. I swear I almost purred.
I'd like to take the hypothetical a paw-step further, as inspired by my young cat Stosh.
Stosh gets so overcome with glee at the prospect of being fed in the morning, he can't control himself. While Vesper is waiting stoically, eyeing me warily from a strategic position near where I will place his bowl, Stosh romps with an imaginary toy or friend for a minute, and then collapses onto his back, rolling back and forth like some Biblical character that Jesus would have cured of the fits.
Recently, it's crossed my mind: What if humans not only purred, but succumbed to this behavior as well?
An imaginary office meeting:
Boss: "So, Stella, we need you to go to Chicago with Jim (dropdead gorgeous colleague for whom you've had the hots for years). And, uh, well, considering our budget, we were hoping you two wouldn't mind sharing a hotel room."
At which point Stella Haven collapses to the floor of the conference room, purring to beat the band, before bolting back to the newsroom and yowling like a cat in heat.
Surely, Tom Peters would think of a way to manage these instincts? One can only hope.
Meanwhile, I eagerly await tonight's premiere of Nip/Tuck, featuring my true-life obsession, Julian McMahon.