Like a giant, pathetic, fur-laden zephyr, the Oregon Cats Classic Show has come and gone; just like dander in the wind, maaaaaan.

You hear that, homeless people?

Like over half of the people to whom I’ve recounted my tale, you probably didn’t know that cat shows exist. Sure, the dog show has been given some sort of media attention, and was even immortalized on celluloid (Best in Show). Thankfully, for us educated folks who don’t like our pets to bark all night, wedge socks under the couch, or knock shit off of our coffee tables, there exists a viable alternative: the cat show. A show with cats.

The show was held all the way up in the BFE part of North Portland, a decidedly un-showy place for such an elegant gala. There were spike strips in the parking lot. In the hall adjacent to the cat show, there was a simultaneous “gun & weapon expo.” Needless to say, cowboy hats and camouflage pants were out in full force, sharing visual space with old ladies draped in the finest sequined cat sweaters that money and Iams proof-of-purchases can buy.

This year’s event featured overpriced soft pretzels and soda courtesy of Aramark, lots of guys in Hawaiian shirts and with hockey hair, and plenty of rude old ladies guarding their cats’ cages with little regard for their own well-being. Later in the evening, the hundreds of attendees were touched by the kind words of a man harassing the crowd over the arena’s P.A. in an attempt to shush the entire gathering for a moment of silence. The actual moment lasted less than the shushing time, thus cementing the fact that “Diane” was less of a cat enthusiast, and more of a lady with asshole friends, forever and ever. Amen.

There were cats of every type; rest assured that there was at least one unheard-of breed present for every participant. As for me, I had never heard of the cripplingly cute Abyssinian kitty until the show. Later, I looked up Abyssinian kittens on my phone. They cost a lot.

Not surprisingly, the Persian was over-represented at this event, because old women love big ugly fluffy things. Bewilderingly over-represented was the Gross Hairless cat (the Sphinx). I believe it’s safe to say we can blame the Austin Powers franchise (and thusly Elliot Jaques, the psychoanalyst who coined the term “midlife crisis”) for this one.

Judges were scattered throughout the arena, amongst the cages; each set of cages were for a different category of cat. The Best of Breed award served as a mini contest leading up to the big affair.

Of course, I didn’t go to the next day, because let’s face it — once one has seen all the cats, one cares not what some old goober thinks is the best cat there (though a Fold won Best Cat of the Day). I had already made up my mind. The Abyssinian won the entire day, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna have some no-necked bald guy who looks like my high school’s vice principal tell me otherwise.