Cat breeders' will to win

Keith Marsom with one of his prized Scottish Fold kittens. Photo / Babiche Martens

Keith Marsom is getting new curtains, Jennie Paul has hygiene issues to contend with and Sandy Steward has lost her lucky sapphire. Serious cat breeding some- times means dealing with unlikely issues, but with only seven days left till their work goes on the line at the National Show, hosted by Auckland Cat Club, these challenges are all part of finding that winning edge. And they've all been hard at it for a month — you don't just run your cutest pedigree under a tap, give it a shake and then hand it over the judges.

These creatures are the product of breeding lines stretching back 10 or so generations and have cost their owners thousands of dollars in care, so it's a weekly grind of shampooing and blowdrying — a tricky task when you're dealing with water-phobic balls of claws and teeth. A clean cat will get you only so far, though. Then it's time to pull out your secret weapons.

In Marsom's case, that starts with a new set of curtains. The theme for this year's show — to be held next weekend at Greenlane's ASB Stadium — is "A Sparkling Affair", a nod to Auckland Cat Club's 60th diamond anniversary. So the Kaukapakapa drainlayer has splashed out on some spangly white fabric that he reckons will give an irrestistible edge to the cages housing his scottish fold cats. For those used to randomly-gened house cats, scottish folds are what you get when expensive, if slightly mutated, british and/or scottish short-haired cats mate.

Their signature is ears that sit flat against the top of their head and you can take one home for a mere $650. But if the curtains aren't enough to win over the judges next weekend, Marsom's final ace will be a trusty chamois. Where other cat owners rely on a standard brush, Marsom has his buffer. So any sparkle coming from his cages won't simply be down to fancy curtains. Did I mention the special heat pads he places in each cage to keep their bottoms toasty warm? Or the curtain-matching towels?

Meanwhile, out in Ardmore, Paul is busy in her purpose-built grooming room dealing with some sensitive issues. Her prize entrant, Sumo, a light-coloured persian, isn't as attentive to his daily ablutions as he should be and needs regular applications of stain remover to make his nether-regions as pearly as the judges desire. And before you ask, perfume won't help.

Well, it might, but artificial smells are banned and the judges sniff-test every cat to make sure. But Paul also has one extra trick she's holding back until show day: potato flour. That's for Sumo's other end, where a few dabs around the eyes will absorb unwanted moisture. Once it's dry, you wipe it off and any extraneous stains go with it, in theory. How long till Nivea catches on? As for Steward's birmans, they have a trick all of their own. Who needs magic trinkets when your cats have the nous to nuzzle the judges: "Last time the judge said: 'Well, that's at least an extra 10 suck-up points'," says Steward. "It was gorgeous, he had his paws up on the judge's shoulder and gave him a little kiss. It's just showing off, really."

Even so, she's slightly anxious about losing her lucky charm, a glitzy sapphire, after having worn it to every competition, so she's on the hunt for a replacement. Once that's sorted she'll get back to ensuring the car is packed the night before. With the pavilion doors opening at 6am, cats to be herded and a 40-minute drive, Steward is wanting the latest possible start to maximise her pre-match sleep. But commitment isn't enough on its own: an ambitious breeder and showperson also needs a willing credit card. Where the national show attracted more than 600 entries a few years ago, this year there are just 330.

One of the main reasons for the drop is the cost involved. Anyone transporting cats by air faces a $65 charge per cat each way, so owners cannot expect any change out of $2000 once they factor in car hire, accommodation, food, and the $124 entry fee. And that's without counting the thousands already spent on vaccinations, veterinary care and food for each cat.

While it's difficult to come up with hard numbers, most breeders know of someone who has given up because of the financial burdens. Anyone who says they're considering cat breeding to make money is fooling themselves. Which may help explain the air of tension that precedes every show.

Firstly, everyone's tired, you have to be up before 5am to get cats toiletted and prepped after having spent the previous day washing, nail clipping, ear waxing and nose clearing. Then there's the drain of dealing with prima donnas — look for the owners who dye their hair to match their cat — who strut around reminding everyone of the prizes they won last year while batting eyelashes at anyone who might be a judge. It's all Best in Show bitchiness, minus the dogs.

The best idea is to keep your head down and get all your brushes, blowdriers, towels, cages, curtains, vaccination certificates and cats in order on the display benches before 7.30am. That's when all the owners are told to leave the room and help themselves to toast and tea while the vets do their rounds. Any cat suspected of carrying a viral nasty or showing any sign of defect will be unceremoniously expelled. "There will be a lot of frazzled, grumpy people around then," says Steward. "No one wants to be vetted out, but no one wants their cats to catch anything from someone else's either." This is also when keeping your cats on a steady diet becomes important.

Stomach upsets are best avoided, especially when your potential prizewinner is being handled by strangers — it only takes one overjangled nerve to release the bowels and it's all over. As for the business end, that's all done in public — much more potential for upset that way, which is all good for the audience. Essentially, handlers deliver each cat to one of the 12 judges who proceed to poke, prod, heft and smell while delivering a commentary of its relative merits, although criticisms are normally couched in comments such as, "I would like to see more ..." or "this cat could do with more ..."

Judges used to be far more cutting until defamation lawsuits began flying around the bigger American shows. Even so, it's not uncommon for owners to get rather peeved at any dissing of their precious darlings.

This is the public face of cat breeding, where it's all ribbons, kittens and the sly use of talcum powder to tart up a tatty coat. But the real skill is in the breeding. Like wine, when it's done correctly and ethically, breeding might be considered an art with cat DNA as the canvas. They're tricky animals — along with rabbits, ferrets and minks, cats are the only mammals that need to have sex to ovulate.

Artificial insemination is difficult, so boy must always meet girl. Boy must also stay with girl because a litter can involve different fathers if the mother has sex with more than one male. This means all pedigree breeds are dependent on an easily accessible gene pool to prosper.

In countries like the United States there's no problem, they've got millions of cats and far more breeders willing to help out. Here in New Zealand it's a real issue, especially when politics are involved.

Sure, breeders will sell or swap un-neutered cats between catteries, but they'll often be contracted to prevent rivals from benefiting from any progeny. So it's sometimes easier to import cats, even if they cost thousands and have to comply with stringent quarantine rules. It's easy to see how the business comes to dominate lives, even if the people involved are all fundamentally hobbyists. Take Annette Norris' Pukekohe home.

Cats feature in every photo, painting, cushion cover, magazine, knickknack, clock and miniatures that rest on every surface that doesn't already have a live kitten already sitting on it. Then there's the crowded string of ribbons and medals, the grey vest with leopard print she's wearing, and the unmistakable scent that strikes any home that has more cats than the owner has fingers. She is serious. "This is my thing," she says, looking around her. "Not a family thing.

Oh, my husband tolerates it, but there are some strict rules here. He'll help me out, but there are boundaries. I couldn't have 20 cats running around, he'd have a fit. You've got to be very careful with that sort of thing." Still, those boundaries must be wide, because she's about to head off for Fiji, leaving hubby to mind the menagerie alone.

After previously working with persians and bengals, Norris is now focused on maine coons, an enormous American specimen which she is breeding in conjunction with Belinda Caminada, another breeder based in nearby Patumahoe. They have each spent $6000 importing maine coons into the country and have been working hard to get their cats ready for showing, since at the very least, shows are great for advertising their business. A 10kg-plus lump of cat is always a crowd-puller and helps them sell about 30 kittens a year each ($800 for a girl, $900 a boy).

Maine Coons are currently the talk of the breeding community. Last December, New Zealand Cat Fancy, the country's major governing body, voted 7-5 to allow polydactyl maine coons into official competitions; a world first.

Polydactylism is a birth defect where a cat can have up to seven digits on its paws. Both Norris and Caminada voted against the move when it was put to maine coon breeders. No one disputes that the defect can cause problems in the cats' legs, but supporters say the defect is naturally occurring, does no serious harm and creates big, beautiful paws. The other side says it isn't yet clear what other impact the active gene involved may have, while questioning the benefit of encouraging a defect. It's a common fight among breeders who love nothing more than creating something new.

At the cute end of this urge are Marsom's scottish folds, but over at the Frankenstein end you'll find the short-legged munchkin cats and the so-called twisty cats which combine two mutations to produce cats with abnormally short front legs and abnormally long back legs. Somewhere in the middle are Mary Grant's sphinxes. Hairless, they look like they're wrapped in mottled skin and have an air of oddly ancient youthfulness. Sphinxes come from Canada where they inter-breed cats with a hairless mutation.

Grant first saw them in the United States 10 years ago and was immediately won over, but it wasn't until three years ago that she was able to buy her own, after another breeder spent $40,000 importing four. Grant bought one of the offspring. Why sphinxes? "Well, sure they look weird, but I like anything that's a bit different," says Grant, "and they just love people, they'll happily sit on your shoulder. They're the most sociable cats I've ever come across. They'd rather have you than food."

As for maintenance, sphinxes need sunscreen to prevent burning and regular washing to stop their chamois-like skin getting greasy. But no amount of scrubbing can fix that Dr Evil look. "People's natural reaction is 'oh, that's ugly' but it doesn't take long to be won over. Look you can do anything with them," she says while hoisting one up by the tail. "I've had people buy them [at $1200 a pop] then come back to me and say they'll never be able to go back to a normal cat."

Grant will be at the show next weekend, but isn't getting too excited. When it comes to new breeds, it takes some time before people work out how they should be marked. Judging is dictated by agreed standards which are developed over many years as breeds become established and accepted — it takes at least three generations before any new trait can even be considered for inclusion. But Grant is happy to keep going until everyone catches up with her, an approach Marsom understands completely. "Breeding really does become a way of life," he says. "It has it's own pressures and a lot of people drop out when it gets tough, but if you can last it's totally addictive. I find it very hard to even consider the possibility of stopping, even with all the [tasteless] jokes I get at work. It's a constant challenge. Some people might spend a lot of money importing a special kitten and try to win something that way, but a true breeder is working to create that perfection themselves. That's why I do it and that's where the satisfaction lies." He doesn't stop there.

Cats are also good for him. "Spend any time with cats and the rhythm of your body relaxes, your stress levels just go away. I studied cat behaviour for years and I've seen how they react, you can learn a lot about yourself by watching how animals react to you." But not everyone shares Marsom's enthusiasm.

Dr Peiter Verhoek is president of the Companion Animal Society, a branch of the New Zealand Veterinarian Society, and he says every vet in the country will euthanase a kitten that has fallen foul of a breeding foul-up before he or she retires. "It's the breed standards we're fighting against. There is no genetic basis for them, yet they have become the ideal that people want to achieve ... these standards can contradict the overall health requirements of the animal and we end up dealing with the fallout: undershot jaws, overshot jaws, eye problems, breathing problems, immunity issues, cats that can't give birth normally. When you're dealing with such small population numbers these problems just keep getting passed on."

Verhoek wants to see the standards dropped in favour of a set that encourages healthy cats and the abandonment of experiments such as the polydactyl maine coons. Even a breeder like Steward is trying to reverse the impact breed standards have had. For example birmans. Their faces have changed dramatically over the past 20 years, so one of Steward's projects is to resurrect the cat's traditional shape and colouration before it disappears completely.

But first, she's hoping for some success next weekend, and not to lose to someone who's showing a cat they have bought off her. "That happens, but we've been doing this a long time now, and even though you're prepared for it, it can be demoralising. But I keep telling people that they always take the best cat home with them, everything else is just someone's opinion."

This cautious approach to success is a common trait. When asked to ponder pulling off the big one — best cat in show — Jennie Paul is the only breeder prepared to play along: "If I win? Oh, he'll get a big feed of meat, and a hug and a kiss. Then, if he's very lucky he might get an extra night inside. I'll tell him, 'you can sleep in Mum's bed and get under the blanket if you want to'. Sure, I'd love to win."