Things my cat makes me learn about others through Google

I finally got a new ID tag for Tuesday, our cat. He's an indoor pet, but I've always made sure he's had a current tag, just in case of emergency. To be truthful, though, I also have a paranoia that one day he'll find an escape route, some sort of secret passage in a closet, a trap door only he has noticed, and crawl past treasures hidden and forgotten by time in the walls, past bricks of gold and bags of silver, through some sort of ventilation duct and eventually out onto the busy streets of West Hartford, a cat free from human clutches. 

Either that or he'll walk out when the door's open.

Regardless of the plausibility of either circumstance, he needed an updated tag, if, for nothing else, to at least make him identifiable. So, I made the trek to the pet store in Bishops Corner to buy a new little metal oval. The self-service machine inside engraved it for me as I waited and watched, and the smell of a cage of birds nearby provided a farm-like atmosphere. In only about 2 minutes, the gold plate was completed. I took it in my hand and read it to make sure the machine (and by "the machine", I meant "I," the person who typed in the information) didn't misspell anything.

I'm Tuesday.

I'm lost. Call

860-XXX-XXXX

Everything seemed fine. Though, looking at the tiny ID in my hand, I couldn't help but feel a bit ripped off. $6.50? Really?

Getting the new tag on Mr. T was pretty easy. And, after doing so and sitting down on the couch, the cat jumped up behind me and, beginning to purr, proceeded to burrow his head into my hair. This isn't uncommon for Tuesday. In fact, it's a trait he seemed to pick up about 8 months ago, completely out of the blue.

Once the session was over and Tuesday settled in for a nap, I got up and turned on the computer. I had been meaning to find out where this relatively new sign of affection generated from, and to see if anyone else out in the world shared such a pet experience. And today seemed to be the day to find out. It was time to learn what this hair sniffing meant.

After my search, I'm still wondering. Though, some Google queries did provide a few funny web links.

I started with a search for "cat hair smelling" (in hindsight, not the best phrase to use). Of course, this lead mostly to websites devoted to cats that smell. From "Is it normal for a cat to smell?" to "Cat hair is not sexy," the gamut was run on follicle odor. But, I did learn through Yahoo Answers that it is OK to wash one's hair with cat shampoo. So, if I'm ever in that pinch . . .

Of course, this cat shampoo link made me wonder who was in such a desperate situation that they had to pose such a question. I mean, is this James Caan in Misery typing away? Is this person stuck in a house with no supplies? If so, shouldn't they spend their online time asking for a rescue team to find them? Honestly, don't worry about your hair! We're coming to save you!

I refined my search to "cat smelling human head," thinking this would weed out the sites devoted to smelly felines. And, thankfully, it did. But, it also weeded out any site willing to answer why my cat decided to start loving my hair. Oh, and there was a strange UK Yahoo Answer post debating whether a dead cat smells "bad" or "really bad" if confined to a small space.

I did not click to find out.

Finally, I went for broke and searched for "cat smelling MY head." Again, I did not find my answer. The only site of interest in the bunch attempted to answer the age old question, "How do you tell someone they smell like litterbox?" (a question stressing the minds of man for generations). There was also a vegetarian that claimed to love the smell of cat food and who wondered if cat "waste" had an invisible smell. 

Now, I don't know what kind of smells this vegetarian is accustomed to, but if they're usually VISIBLE, I think they should question the type of "plants" they're eating.

In the end, I was unable to find an answer to my question. I only can assume that Tuesday started to do this odd little act out of boredom. Why he waited until the age of 6 to begin, I'll never know, but I don't mind. As long as he doesn't start wielding scissors while he's back there, I think I'll be safe.