Lessons from a Failed Interview

The first thing I saw through the crack of a welcoming door was a bright, white mustache. It wasn't symmetrical, but it was groomed to perfection. As always, it sits atop a nose so small, it's hard to find in the smoosh of his two-dimensional profile. I walked into a living room lit by sunset, with matching, orange eyes tracking every move. I see that strikingly unique face often, adoration and comfort always making an appearance too. But that evening, another feeling stopped by our meeting: curiosity, as my routine "Hello, sir," was met with the typical "Me-oo-hw."

This is Einstein, and yes, he is a cat. A 3-year-old, Exotic Shorthair, to be exact. I know what you're thinking: Not another personified animal story. Don't worry. This may be an interview' of a feline subject, but in a way, it's also an interview of myself. It's about breaking down why we interview people, what we learn when we do, and how we ultimately put it in writing.

That evening, after Mr. Monopoly gave his welcome meow, I moved swiftly through the rest of the routine. I moved toward the kitchen with white-mittened paws trotting at my tail and opened the beloved cabinet of goodies. This time with a different motive, I asked my next question: "Are you ready for dinner?" Without a beat, a quick and firm "meow." meant the answer is yes.

I grabbed a wide and shallow bowl, a can of gravy-soaked poultry bits, cracked the lid, and emptied it to the tune of a few quiet, drawn-out mmeaaowws. A mumbled follow to the initial response. Pumpkin eyes watched excitedly as a fancy feast was set between a plastic water fountain and a bowl of candy-like kibble.

This routine ordinarily ends when I head up the stairs and settle into the evening hours. But my mind was still spinning with thoughts about the role of observation and non-verbal communication within the art of interview. I stood nearby, ready to take note each time Einstein's flat face disappeared only to swing back up higher than it started. But, after three ups and downs, and the chomps of chicken that came in between, the rushed excitement of a chatty cat passed as quickly as dinner time.

Now, my observation was not a filler until the questioning could resume. Instead, I watched closely as a confident and content tuxedo cat left the bowl he begged for moments ago and strutted to a window still before the last chomp of the dance was complete. He scaled an upholstered armchair by the front door still lit by the subtly-transformed sunset, and leapt onto a built-in ledge, perfectly placed under the home's front window. Passing plants and decorative candles with precision, Einstein planted himself in front of the glowing square of glass.

It was time to recalibrate. The observational interview I hoped to ground in themes of self-expression and advocacy for the language-deprived was no longer set in the excitement of meal time. It was time to bring a second source along for the journey.

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Enter another mustache. This one is not so bright, not so white, and not as perfectly groomed. But, it does suit the long, blonde curls that bounce on each side, plus the permanent doodles that decorate Otto's arms on the journey down to cay-sight.

"Thank God Einstein is getting his moment," Otto Gaiser texted in response to my request for comment.

Otto is considered the "step-dad" to Einstein within the household. He has no custody, but loves the fancy boy as his own. The two can spend hours side by side, with Einstein often choosing the father figure's "best pets" to his own cat-mom's, so Otto says.

He tells me he's spent time with many cats throughout his 28 years, even living under the same roof with furry friends of roommates past. But, he is firm in the belief that Einstein is a shining star.

"I have never met a cat that is so vocal," he shares through a smile only made possible by sincerity. "He is so proper, but also such a weirdo." He describes the range of noises and intonation that some don't realize a cat can make, and displays an air of respect thinking about Einstein's dominance in a crowded room. "Everything is on his terms, and he makes it known."

The discography of excellence continues. Here's what I learned: Einstein is patient when tolerating kisses and human affection, but determined with sass when he decides he wants something. His claws come out within the presence of a mouse, regardless of an actual heartbeat, but he never acts out or skips the litter box. He hates to be alone with doors of separation, but never intrudes on the boundaries of personal space - and would appreciate you doing the same.

"Einstein is kinda the ideal cat. I wish we knew who his real parents are because I would adopt a biological sibling without question." Otto acknowledges that his girlfriend is the third "mom" that Einstein has lived with.

Originally purchased by an Exotic Shorthairs and Persians breeder living with pets of TikTok acclaim, Einstein had a predetermined career path in kitty-making when he was brought into the cast of characters. Instead, he came down with Feline Infectious Peritonitis, or F.I.P., a viral disease caused by certain strains of the feline coronavirus typically contracted in young kittens. With a near 100% mortality rate, Einstein miraculously recovered under the breeder's dedicated care. His life was saved, but the risk of passing along a genetic predisposition to the virus was too great for his intended duties to begin. He was neutered and continued to live alongside the other cats, dogs, and reptiles almost a year.

Coincidently, it was the unique personality that Otto admires so much that led to his final rehoming. A Craigslist of Southern California post stated that the sweet, friendly cat was too friendly for the divided attention of a 12-pet house.

"We joke that he is a dog-cat," his previous owner told me. "He follows us around and always wants to be the center of our attention. He likes to play with the other cats, but he likes to play with us more." She wanted to give Einstein a home where he could break out of the ensemble and jump into the spotlight.

Luckily for everyone, Einstein happily took center stage in a new home, and his big break has never gone unnoticed. In talking with Otto, it's clear his spotlight is shining brighter than ever. Is this why he can demand his gravy dinner with such power, only to return to his favorite pedestal after a few small bites? Maybe it's not about understanding how a cat would perform in an interview setting, but how the observation of cats, animals, and all subjects can lead to unexpected findings.

When asked if he would get a kitten from the breeder that raised the mustached miracle cat, Otto said no. He stood firm in the belief that Einstein is so unique, "it has to be in his DNA."

---

Einstein sat rooted in the warm glow of the front window, in his spot amongst plants, ready for post-supper lip licking and people watching. Otto and I paused to watch him. His permanent tuxedo shined as it framed a statuesque figure like a backlit painting. I thought of all the questions I had planned to ask, pretending I could receive English answers. I knew a true interview would be fantastical, even for the anomaly of a cat. But, I figured the attempted exercise would at least show me the answers through my own perception of his feline responses.

In the end, I didn't need to ask direct questions to understand his essence. It's all there- in every fold of a paw, and glance of the two pumpkin eyes. Otto confirmed that it isn't just my perception, the breeder told me this is the way he's always been, and Einstein himself told me everything about his distinction. And he did so in the best way a cat knows how: the feline art of body language. Something a writer like me can take into the next interview, even if the subject lacks the feline touch.

A lesson was learned. If not about Einstein, about the art of observation and writing. But, what the heck - since Einstein the tuxedo-wearing, mustache-dawning Exotic Shorthair is bi-lingual in comprehension, I figured I'd offer him one final question to wrap the experimental interview.

"Do you know that we are interviewing you right now?" I asked the silhouette of his window-framed back.

His ears shifted, signaling take-off, as his head whipped around, and revealed the unfolding twirl a black-tie chest and disappearing tail. In an instant, we could again admire the off-balance 'stache, and the enlarged pumpkin eyes. They magnetically locked with mine before they even appeared.

The big, gloved paws were preparing for departure, en route to Human Mom's side of the room. But, before he broke the mutual stare to make his launch off the window sill, Einstein gave his last statement for the record.

Naturally, the sparkle in his eye and the inflection in his voice were answers in themselves.

"Miau!"