100 Cats Who Changed Civilization: History's Most Influential Felines

SIMON ^{BRITAIN’S MOST-DECORATED SEA CAT}

Cats who live aboard ships need more than the usual amount of intestinal fortitude. They spend their lives surrounded by water, and if their ship happens to be a vessel of war, they may face combat as well.

Such was the case for Simon, who “served” aboard the British destroyer HMS Amethyst. He displayed such fortitude in the face of battle, loss, and injury that he became the first cat in English history to receive a medal for courage under fire.

He was born inauspiciously, on an island off the coast of Hong Kong. His sea service began in March 1948, when a sailor smuggled him aboard the Amethyst. He became a favorite of the captain, accompanying him on rounds and even sleeping in his cap. Simon was also an expert rat hunter, often laying out his kills at the feet of his commanding officer.

In 1949, the Amethyst received a new captain, who also appreciated Simon’s company. The ship then got a new, more dangerous assignment. Mainland China was in the throes of the communist revolution, and the ship was to sail up the Yangtze River to Nanking to guard the British embassy and to evacuate the staff if Mao Zedong’s forces took the town.

The Amethyst voyaged into a hornet’s nest. Gun batteries on the banks of the Yangtze opened up on the ship, killing more than two dozen crewmen and inflicting heavy damage. While trying to evade the attacks, the ship ran aground on a sand bar. The captain’s cabin took a direct hit, killing him and, everyone assumed, Simon as well. After a long struggle the crew finally refloated the ship and maneuvered out of range of shore fire. The wounded were evacuated and the dead buried.

About that time the crew realized that Simon had survived the destruction of the captain’s cabin. But just barely. His whiskers were singed, he was covered with blood, and he was dehydrated and suffering from four shrapnel wounds. He was taken to sickbay and patched up, though his chances of survival seemed small.

But the indestructible cat had other ideas. Slowly he convalesced, eventually regaining enough strength to go rat hunting again. There was plenty of time for this, because the Amethyst was trapped behind enemy lines. Food was running short, and the ship’s rodent population made desperate attempts to get at it. Simon, though hurt, was the first line of defense.

When not on rat patrol, the little cat was in sickbay, commiserating with convalescing sailors. His own injuries helped them relate to the cat and perhaps feel more at ease. He even managed to befriend the Amethyst’s new captain, who had made no secret of his dislike for felines. When he came down with a fever that confined him to his quarters, Simon dutifully sat on his bunk beside him.

Finally, after two months bottled up on the Yangtze, the Amethyst escaped under cover of darkness. The crew members were hailed as heroes, as was Simon. He was awarded the Dicken Medal for animal gallantry—the four-legged version of the Victoria Cross. So far he is the only cat ever to receive the honor.

Unfortunately, he never lived to see it. While sweating out a six-month mandatory quarantine after reaching England, he contracted an infection and died on November 28, 1949. Today, a stone marker stands over his grave. It says in part, and with typical British understatement, that the little cat’s behavior “was of the highest order.”

FAITH ^{THE CAT WHO DEFIED THE LONDON BLITZ}

The first days of World War II were dark ones indeed for Great Britain. Nazi Germany had conquered almost all of Europe, leaving the residents of the island nation to fight on alone. From September 1940 to May 1941, Hitler tried to crush England’s will to resist by launching the Blitz—the indiscriminate terror bombing of cities, especially London.

Though thousands were killed and wounded, the nightly attacks failed to break the spirit of the people. Many, in the face of great danger, displayed unforgettable courage. And the heroism wasn’t just confined to humans. One of the most famous stories concerns a church cat named Faith. In 1936, the little tabby found her way to St Augustine’s and St Faith’s Church in London. She took up residence in the rectory.

Faith attended all services in which the rector, Father Henry Ross (who had originally taken her in), took part. If her benefactor wasn’t speaking, she sat in the front pew. If Ross was preaching, she sat in the pulpit at his feet.

In August 1940, Faith gave birth to a single male kitten, which the church choir celebrated the next Sunday by singing All Things Bright and Beautiful. The black and white puff ball was named Panda.

But on September 6 of that year, something strange happened. Faith, for no discernable reason, led Ross to the church basement and begged him to open the door. He complied, and later saw the mother cat carry Panda from his comfortable upstairs basket down to the dusty, dark sanctum. Three times Ross took the kitten back upstairs, and three times Faith carried him back down. Finally the pastor admitted defeat, took the kitten’s basket to the basement, and tried to make the two as comfortable as possible.

Within days, however, Faith’s odd behavior would seem more like clairvoyance.

On September 9, while Ross was away, his church took a direct hit from a bomb. He arrived to find emergency crews scrambling around the still-burning structure. Ross told them that to his knowledge the only creatures inside were Faith and Panda. The fireman he spoke to said there was no chance they could have survived.

But Ross couldn’t accept that. Risking his life, he entered the building’s sagging, flaming remains and called out for Faith. He heard a faint answering meow and dug through the rubble until he found the two felines buried under a pile of singed sheet music. Faith, grimy but uninjured, was sitting with her kitten beneath her, in the same place she’d scouted out days earlier. Ross quickly carried both cats to safety, getting clear just as the roof collapsed.

The story of the church cat’s selfless devotion to her kitten soon spread across the United Kingdom. On October 12, 1945, before a packed house at the rebuilt St Augustine’s and while nestled in the arms of the Archbishop of Canterbury, she received a special medal for her courage.

Panda, once grown, became the mascot of a retirement home. And Faith remained at the church until her death on September 28, 1948. Her passing was worldwide news, as was her burial near the churchyard gate. The feline described as “the bravest cat in the world” can spend eternity at the place she loved.

MRS. CHIPPY ^{THE CAT WHO EXPLORED THE ANTARCTIC}

Few adventure stories are as gripping as that of the Imperial Trans-Arctic Expedition of 1914–1916, led by famed explorer Ernest Shackleton. The expedition’s original plan was to take the ship Endurance to the coast of Antarctica, then dispatch a team to sled from one end of the continent to the other. But a series of disasters turned the voyage of discovery into a battle for survival. In the end, it would claim the life of a much-loved crewmember—the Endurance’s cat, Mrs. Chippy.

The feline came aboard with the ship’s carpenter, Henry McNeish. The crew called the cat Mrs. Chippy (chippy being slang for carpenter), and kept the Mrs. even after they realized the cat was a male. But whatever his sex, the feline earned his keep by killing the mice and rats that threatened the expedition’s food stores.

When he wasn’t hunting vermin or chumming around with the crew, Mrs. Chippy seemed intent on finding new ways to risk his life. The ship’s deck was lined with sled dog kennels, which the cat loved to walk nonchalantly across. And one night, as the ship traversed the icy South Atlantic, the feline jumped out a porthole and into the inky sea. By some miracle he was spotted, and the ship turned in time to pick him up. He spent roughly ten minutes bobbing in the water—more than enough to kill an average human.

But his luck didn’t hold. In January 1915, the Endurance got stuck in the ice far from the Antarctic coast. Months passed, but the grip of the elements never slackened. Finally, stores began to run low, and the weight of the floes started crushing the ship’s hull, forcing the crew to live in tents out on the ice sheet. Shackleton decided to risk everything by abandoning ship and taking the entire crew, along with whatever gear and provisions they could carry or drag, 350 miles by open boat and sled to the nearest land. Everyone would go. Everyone except Mrs. Chippy. Shackleton decided that on such a desperate mission there was no place for a cat.

On the appointed day, the entire crew filed by to gaze their last upon the luckless feline, who had shared all their travails without complaint. After everyone said their goodbyes, the ship’s steward served him his favorite meal—a bowl of sardines. And then, according to most accounts, Mrs. Chippy was dispatched, as humanely as possible, to that great scratching post in the sky. The Endurance crew abandoned ship shortly thereafter. They spent the next few months traversing the bitterly cold ocean in open boats and trudging across windswept tundra. But in the end, the entire (human) crew made it back to civilization alive.

Shackleton’s leadership made him a hero. But he was no hero to Mrs. Chippy’s owner, Henry McNeish. Apparently the ship’s carpenter bore a grudge against his commanding officer for the rest of his life. After the expedition, he settled in New Zealand, where he lived until his death in 1930. Any mention of the polar expedition would inevitably bring up a bitter complaint about how Shackleton killed his cat.

The old carpenter did receive some solace, and come company, in the afterlife. In 2004 an addition was made to his Wellington grave. The slab that marks his final resting place was adorned with a life-sized bronze sculpture of his beloved companion, Mrs. Chippy.

FELIX ^{THE FIRST CAT IN SPACE}

At the dawn of the space race, numerous nonhuman species, from chimps to dogs, were bundled aboard experimental rockets and fired into orbit. But while many remember Laika the dog and Ham the chimp, few now recall the otherworldly exploits of Felix, the first feline in space.

The former Paris street cat (there’s some controversy as to whether it was a male or female) was scrupulously trained for his trip. On October 18, 1963, he was strapped into a Veronique AG1 sounding rocket at a French base in Algeria and blasted into the great beyond. Felix didn’t go into orbit, but he did fly more than 130 miles into space. Then the capsule reentered the atmosphere, deployed a parachute, and returned to terra firma. No one is sure what happened to Felix afterward, but one thing is certain: He fared better than the second cat in space, whose rocket broke up in flight on October 24 of the same year.

Felix’s journey is a bright spot in the history of catkind—tarnished only by the fact that the French put the first rat into space two years earlier.

THE CLIMBING KITTEN ^{THE CAT WHO CONQUERED THE MATTERHORN}

Few mountains boast as fearsome a reputation as the Matterhorn. Straddling the Swiss/Italian border, its forbidding slopes defied mountaineers until the middle of the nineteenth century, when it was finally scaled. Yet even today, the 14,693-foot peak still claims several unwary climbers each year. Clearly, this challenge is not for the young and inexperienced.

Unless you happen to be a cat.

The first feline ascent of this famous Alpine peak was accomplished in August 1950 during an expedition led by Edmund Biner. While guiding his group up the Matterhorn, he paused at 12,556 feet to get his bearings. It was then that the adventurers realized they were being followed—by a kitten. A four-month-old kitten belonging to one Josephine Aufdenblatten of Geneva.

History doesn’t explain why the kitten elected to follow the men—only that it eventually pursued them all the way to the summit. Figuring the beleaguered creature had used up more than a couple of its nine lives, one of the climbers carried it back down to sea level in his rucksack.

SCARLETT ^{THE CAT WHO BECAME AN ACTION HERO}

Overnight, a scrawny New York City feline went from anonymous stray to international hero. The transformation happened, literally, in a flash.

A flash of fire, that is. The saga began in March 1996, when a blaze consumed an East New York garage. As the battle against the conflagration wound down, firefighters noticed three four-week-old kittens huddled near the building’s front door, crying in fear. Across the street sat two more. A badly burned calico female paced nervously between the two groups.

It didn’t take long for firefighter David Giannelli to figure out what had happened. Giannelli, whose soft spot for pets earned him the nickname “the animal guy” in East New York’s Ladder Company 75, guessed that during the fire, the mother cat had dashed repeatedly into the blaze to rescue her kittens. Now she was in the process, in spite of her severe injuries, of moving them to a new hiding place.

The firefighter scooped up the mother and babies and took them to the North Shore Animal League in Port Washington, New York. The staff, sensing a chance for a little publicity, told the story to a local TV station. The agency got more than a little publicity. Everyone from CNN to the BBC picked up the tale, and soon people from as far away as Cairo and Japan were writing and phoning the shelter.

The mother was named Scarlett, because of the livid color of her burns. Sadly, one of the kittens died of an infection. But the other four made strong recoveries. As the family convalesced together, thousands of adoption offers flooded in from around the world. Finally, two kittens named Samsara and Tanuki were given to a Port Washington family; the other two, Cinders and Oreo, found their way to Hampton Bays, New York.

Heroic Scarlett found a home with the Wellen family in Brooklyn. Her scars healed, and the only remaining signs of her travails were her rather poor vision and the amputated tips of her ears. Her new owners have also helped heal any emotional scars. “She’s a total love machine,” a family member told the New York Times. The formerly scrawny stray is also, apparently, an eating machine. After her rescue she ballooned to seventeen pounds—quite a change from her days as an action heroine.

MOURKA ^{THE CAT WHO SERVED AT STALINGRAD}

No single World War II battle proved as costly as the struggle for Stalingrad. For 199 days, German forces tried to wrest control of the Soviet city (now called Volgograd) from the Red Army. The Nazis were finally repelled, but at the almost unimaginable cost of two million lives.

The victory demanded incredible feats of heroism. Remarkably, one of the bravest of the brave wasn’t a soldier, but a cat named Mourka. During the bitter street fighting inside the city, exposing oneself for even a moment was tantamount to suicide. For one squad assigned to find and report the location of German artillery positions, the only way to get information back to headquarters was by hand—until they received unexpected help in the form of Mourka. The stray cat could run notes back and forth unobserved, sparing his human comrades terrible risk. His contribution to the war effort was duly noted in the Times (UK), which said of the intrepid feline: “He has shown himself worthy of Stalingrad, and whether for cat or man there can be no higher praise.”

PRECIOUS ^{THE CAT WHO SURVIVED 9/11}

During a crisis, average citizens may discover they possess undreamed-of reserves of heroism and grit. Such was the case for many New Yorkers on September 11, 2001. And such was especially the case for a pampered nine-pound Persian cat named Precious. Her tale of survival is as unlikely as it is inspiring.

Precious’s owners, Steve and D. J. Kerr, were out of town on the fateful day. The cat was alone in their apartment, located directly across the street from the Twin Towers, when the buildings collapsed. The shock shattered every window, first spraying the interior with glass and metal shrapnel and then filling it with a cloud of dust.

But things got worse. The 114 Liberty Street building was so heavily damaged that its tenants weren’t allowed to return. That meant Precious had to survive on her own—a tall order for an eight-year-old feline who’d never even been outside. Yet eighteen days later, an animal rescue team found her on the building’s roof. She was thirsty, dirty, and two pounds lighter, but otherwise intact. Her survival proved that New Yorkers are tough, even the ones who don’t get out much.

TOMMY ^{THE CAT WHO COULD USE A PHONE}

The news is filled with stories of dogs who help their stricken owners. But few canines have ever displayed the devotion, let alone the cognitive skills, shown by Tommy, owned by Gary Rosheisen of Columbus, Ohio. In January 2006, the chronically ill Rosheisen fell out of his wheelchair near his bed. He couldn’t get up, and he couldn’t call for help.

Shortly thereafter, someone used his phone to place a 911 call. When dispatchers answered, all they heard was silence on the other end. The call was disconnected and the number dialed, and when no one answered, police were dispatched. The officers who entered the apartment found an incapacitated Rosheisen sprawled on the bedroom floor and his orange and tan feline, Tommy, sitting in the living room by the phone. No one else was around. Later, Rosheisen (who must have had a lot of time on his hands) stated that he’d tried to teach his cat to hit the 911 button on his speed dial. He didn’t think the lesson had stuck, but apparently it had. “He’s my hero,” he told the Associated Press.

EMILY ^{THE CAT WHO TRAVELED WORST-CLASS TO FRANCE}

Curiosity doesn’t always kill the cat. More often, it just lands the cat in some very curious predicaments. That’s certainly the case for Emily, a nondescript tabby who lived the first months of her life with owner Lesley McElhiney of Appleton, Wisconsin.

Emily had a nose for trouble. One day, while out roaming the neighborhood, she decided to explore a nearby warehouse. That decision started her on an adventure that spanned two continents and turned her into an international celebrity.

Because Emily can’t talk, we’ll never know all the details of her globetrotting adventure. But the high points of her itinerary are plain enough. In late September 2005, Emily started poking around a paper company distribution center near her home. Somehow she got into a container of paper bales bound for France. Once inside, she must have fallen asleep—so soundly, apparently, that she didn’t notice when the container was sealed and shipped out.

She wouldn’t see the light of day again for weeks. First the parcel containing the paper (and Emily) was hauled by truck to Chicago, then by ship to Belgium, then by truck again to Raflatac, a laminating company based in Nancy, France. Finally, on October 24 (which happened to be the hapless cat’s first birthday), the crate was pried open to reveal a very thin, very thirsty Emily. Surprised workers checked her tags and called her Wisconsin veterinarian, who in turn informed the extremely surprised McElhiney family.

The tale of the little cat’s saga quickly spread around the world, and volunteers stepped forward to help the far-ranging feline find her way home. Raflatac covered the $7-per-day cost of her mandatory month-long quarantine in France. And when Emily was finally cleared to return, she did so courtesy of Continental Airlines, which flew her back to the United States in business class. She’d grown so enamored of French food that she arrived home a bit plumper than when she left.

Emily was reunited with her family at the Milwaukee airport, and she resumed the life of quiet anonymity she’d lived before her fateful encounter with the shipping crate. “She seems a little calmer than she was before,” McElhiney told the BBC. “Just a little quieter, a little, maybe, wiser.”

RUSIK ^{THE CAT WITH A NOSE FOR (STOLEN) CAVIAR}

Police dogs are old news. Police cats, however, are something special. Especially when they give their lives on the job. Such is the story of a Russian feline named Rusik.

Rusik’s nose made him special. He had been adopted by customs guards at a police checkpoint in Stavropol, on the shores of the Caspian Sea. The guards soon learned he could infallibly detect the presence of caviar. This skill would have been useless almost anywhere except near the Caspian, whose sturgeon produce 95 percent of the world’s high-quality caviar. Not surprisingly, numerous poachers net Caspian fish illegally, steal their roe, then smuggle it out for sale on the black market.

Enter Rusik, who was so good at locating concealed caviar in vehicles that he replaced the sniffer dog the cops formerly used. Alas, his career ended tragically in July 2003. After inspecting a bus, he jumped out onto the street and was run over by a car—a car in which he’d previously found contraband fish eggs. Was it a contract killing? Many suspect so. Especially since another police cat died a short while afterward, allegedley from eating a poisoned mouse.

SPARKY ^{THE CAT WHO SURVIVED 11,000 VOLTS}

Cats supposedly have nine lives, but sometimes they don’t use them wisely. Such was the case for one overly curious British tomcat. The feline made national headlines in March 1998, when he wandered into an electrical substation near his home in the town of Hull. There he somehow managed to short out the equipment, taking an 11,000-volt blast in the process, which is normally enough juice to kill a cat, a human being, or a herd of elephants, for that matter.

Yet somehow the cat survived. A Yorkshire Electricity employee spotted him shortly after the accident, extricated the limp, smoking feline from the equipment, and got him medical attention. His miraculous survival earned him television and newspaper coverage across Great Britain, along with a new nickname: Sparky.

Sparky did not get away from the encounter scot-free, however. His fur and paws were severely burned, his front leg injured, his ears paralyzed, and his whiskers incinerated. But his new look wasn’t enough to prevent his horrified owners, Steve Bateman and Tricia Watts, from recognizing his picture in the paper. Explaining that his real name was Soxy, they stepped forward to claim their newfound celebrity.

The public, however, refused to relinquish its grip. Soxy/Sparky became a regular at public events and a popular mascot for charitable causes. He even won a national cat of the year award. “He was very loyal and affectionate, and he loved all the attention he got,” Bateman told the BBC.

The only thing he lacked was the ability to learn from his mistakes. Despite the fact that his poor judgment and survival skills had been amply demonstrated, Bateman and Watts continued to let their pet roam the neighborhood. Finally, in September 1999, Sparky didn’t return home. Suspecting the worst, his owners asked the folks at the electrical substation to poke around the equipment. Sure enough, they found Sparky. But this time his luck had run out.

In a heartbeat, the cat who had been a symbol of survival became a symbol of something far more important: The need to keep one’s pets indoors. The cat who couldn’t leave well enough alone will never roam again. He’s confined for eternity to a small grave in his owners’ garden.

TRIXY ^{THE CAT WHO BROKE INTO THE TOWER OF LONDON}

Cats have many fascinating and endearing qualities. However, steadfast, unyielding loyalty usually isn’t one of them. That’s what makes the story of Trixy, the favorite pet of Henry Wriothesley, third Earl of Southampton (1573–1624), so amazing. If her story can be believed, she displayed a level of devotion few humans can aspire to, let alone felines.

In his day, her master, the earl, was a well-known adventurer and patron of the arts. Shakespeare received both his encouragement and his funds. Unfortunately, the man also had a notoriously short temper and a penchant for backing the wrong horse during political disputes. His most disastrous miscalculation was joining with the Earl of Essex in a plot to overthrow Queen Elizabeth I. For this he earned a death sentence, which was shortly converted to life imprisonment in the Tower of London.

The earl began his sentence in 1601. While he cooled his heels in a tiny cell, his black and white cat, Trixy, grew agitated by his continued absence from Southampton House, the family seat. One day she simply walked away from the palatial estate, made her way via alleys and rooftops to the heart of London, located her master’s cell, and entered it via a chimney. She spent the next two years at the earl’s side, until Elizabeth’s death and the ascension of James I led to Wriothesley and Trixy’s release.

It seems nearly impossible that a pampered country cat could have made it all the way to the Tower on foot. How, exactly, did she know her master was there? Some surmise that she got some help from her human friends. Perhaps, it is said, the earl’s wife smuggled Trixy into the prison.

No one, at this late date, will ever know the exact circumstances. But one thing is certain. The earl was greatly impressed by his little cat’s fortitude and fidelity. Shortly after his release from the Tower, he commissioned a portrait of himself by painter John de Critz. It features Wriothesley garbed in the full finery of an English noble, standing alongside Trixy, who wears an appropriately steadfast scowl—just the sort of look one would expect from so intrepid a cat.

TRIM ^{THE FIRST CAT TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE AUSTRALIA}

Landlubbers think dogs are man’s best friend. But sailors pay their highest respect to cats. Their uncanny balance serves them well on pitching decks, and their hunting prowess keeps the rodents out of the biscuits. But even given this innate mutual respect, the relationship between famed explorer Matthew Flinders and his cat, Trim, was exceptional.

The two met in 1797 on the high seas. Both served aboard the HMS Reliance. One day Trim, who was still a kitten, was washed overboard—yet he somehow managed to swim back to the ship, snag a rope with his claws, and use it to climb aboard. Flinders, impressed, made him his own.

From 1801 to 1803, Flinders, now in command of the Investigator, slowly circumnavigated Australia, becoming the first person to do so. Trim, who never left his side, became the first feline to do so. But when the mission ended and the duo tried to get back to England, their return ship, the Porpoise, ran aground on the Great Barrier Reef. Incredibly, Flinders (with Trim at his side) navigated one of the wrecked ship’s boats some 700 miles over open sea to Sydney, where he arranged for the rescue of the rest of the crew.

Flinders tried again to reach England on the schooner Cumberland. But he put in at the French-controlled island of Mauritius, not knowing that England and France were at war. He was thrown in a local prison for seven years. It was there that he and Trim finally parted. The cat kept him company for a while, until one day he simply disappeared—captured and eaten, Flinders guessed, by some of the island’s underfed slave population.

When Flinders finally returned to England, he authored a book called A Voyage to Terra Australis, which popularized the use of the word Australia. Today his name can be found on natural landmarks and public buildings all over that continent, including a statue at Sydney’s Mitchell Library. Behind it, perched on a window ledge, sits a bronze statue of Trim. It includes a tribute from his grieving master, who called him “the best and most illustrious of his race, the most affectionate of friends, faithful of servants, and best of creatures.”

GRANPA ^{THE WORLD’S OLDEST CAT}

These days, pampered felines enjoy the best food, accommodations, and medical care money can buy. So it isn’t unusual to hear of well-preserved pets who live for twenty years or more. But few—actually, none—can match the record for longevity achieved by Granpa, who lived to the slightly overripe age of thirty-four years, two months, and four hours—good enough to earn him a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records.

Granpa’s life was as strange as it was long. A rare hairless sphinx, he was taken to the Humane Society of Travis County (Texas) on January 16, 1970, by a good Samaritan who found him running loose near a busy intersection. He was almost immediately adopted by Jake Perry, a plumber, part-time cat show enthusiast, and feline rescuer. Figuring such an unusual cat must have a worried owner somewhere, he put up posters about him around town. Months later he received a call from a Frenchwoman, who in December 1969 had come to the United States to visit her daughter. While there her cat, Pierre, had escaped through an unlatched screen door, never to be seen again.

By that time Perry had owned the male sphinx, whom he had renamed Granpa Rexs Allen, for quite a while. Nevertheless, he agreed to let the woman have a look at him. After confirming that it was indeed her cat, she graciously allowed his benefactor to keep him. She even handed over his pedigree papers, which stated that he was born early on the morning of February 1, 1964, in Paris.

A few years later, Perry started entering Granpa in shows sponsored by the International Cat Association under the “household pet” category. To his great surprise, the feline, who was already into his second decade and thus considered old, earned the rank of supreme grand master, the highest possible award for pets in his division.

As his age reached the high twenties, Granpa’s fame grew. Each year for his birthday, he got a vanilla cake topped with tuna and broccoli icing. Not surprisingly, he was generally the only one to partake. The rest of his unusual diet, however, would have passed muster with most human diners: Breakfast consisted of Egg Beaters, chopped bacon, broccoli or asparagus, and coffee. He also enjoyed either jelly or mayonnaise smeared on his food; he would choose which one every morning by putting his paw on the jar he preferred.

Fortified by lots of vegetables, Granpa persisted into his early thirties, which is roughly 150 in cat years. Finally, on April 1, 1998, he gave up the ghost after a long bout with pneumonia. After an elaborate funeral, during which Perry’s numerous other cats viewed Granpa as he lay in state inside a tiny, lace-lined coffin, he was interred in his owner’s backyard pet cemetery, which already contained about two dozen cats. Roughly four hundred fans from around the world sent cards, flowers, and other mementos.

His final honor was, of necessity, posthumous. The 2000 edition of the Guinness Book of World Records duly recognized the wizened French expatriate as the oldest cat who ever lived. His record just barely squeezes out the previous record holder, an English cat named Ma who survived for thirty-four years and one day. It just goes to show that in longevity, as in any other endeavor, persistence is key.

OTHER FELINES OF DISTINCTION

HAMLET: A Canadian cat who escaped from his pet carrier during a flight from Toronto. Hamlet remained at large on the plane for seven weeks, during which he flew a staggering 370,000 miles, making him history’s most-traveled feline.

ANDY: A pet of U.S. Senator Ken Myer, Andy survived a sixteen-story (roughly 200-foot) fall from an apartment balcony and survived.

CHOUX: During World War I, a French soldier wanted to tell a German soldier who was married to his cousin that he’d become a father. So he tied a note to a kitten named Choux, who marched blithely across no–man’s land to deliver the birth announcement.

PATSY: Accompanied famed aviator Charles Lindbergh on many flights, but not on the solo jaunt across the Atlantic that made him famous. “It’s too dangerous a journey to risk a cat’s life,” Lindbergh reportedly said.

DUSTY: A monument to motherhood, this Texas feline bore 420 kittens in her lifetime, making her the most prolific cat in recorded history. Her record has lasted more than half a century.