My cat, Jerry, whose rise to international superstardom is the topic of this blog, has powerful feelings toward a particular celebrity. That celebrity is Gwyneth Paltrow.
How do I know this? you ask.
Recently, I enjoyed browsing an article about “The Best (and Worst!) Beach Bodies” — always an excellent topic — and had set the magazine aside to write another poem about middle-aged despair and disappointment. As chance would have it, I’d left the magazine open on the chaise to a picture of Gwyneth. This was during her recent “conscious decoupling” with her unworthy partner, Chris Martin of Coldplay. She looked like she needed a hug.
Jerry trotted up to the magazine and pushed his little nose into Gwyneth’s lovely portrait, batted his eyes, and purred. I could see this was love at first sight — a love that a young cat never forgets. Now, I was a young man at one time. I remember the wild and secret feelings I had for Pamela Sue Martin, aka Nancy Drew. I don’t blame Jerry for being alive to the instincts of his race.
Pondering my young cat and his celebrity crush, I realized something else. Jerry kind of looks like Gwyneth:
See what I mean?
The same pleading dark eyes; vulnerable, pouting lips; blunt and probing nostrils; albino-like coloring with a hint of red for danger; and aura of child-like faith and sweetness that people ultimately do love me, even if right now they are jealous haters eaten up with envy at my incredible beauty and poise. Yes, they are soulmates, Gwyneth and Jerry. He certainly seems to think so.
Now, I myself am not immune. I loved Gwyneth in Sliding Doors and Great Expectations, and, well, other stuff. Her lifestyle website GOOP cracks open a window into a world of wealth and indifference to pain that I can only admire. I was eagerly awaiting Vanity Fair‘s rumored expose — which, at last, would help me to know the real woman behind that gorgeous grille — and was disappointed by my old boss Graydon Carter’s decision to spike it. The spirit of Spy magazine, where we worked together in the 1990’s, is gone, gone with the solar wind.
Although the Star — where Jerry first met his crush — did a poll that named Gwyneth the “most hated” celebrity, fifty percent of my household thinks she would make an excellent life partner. The other fifty percent are female.
Since every worthwhile project needs a quixotic goal, I think today Jerry declared his final destination. He wants to meet Gwyneth Paltrow.
I, for one, do not underestimate his chances.