Whenever the subject comes up, and it may be said, speaking with moderation, that it comes up forty times a day, some one invariably declares, “No, I don´t like cats, I like dogs.” The cognate dichotomous remark, which is equally popular, prevalent, and banal, is “No, I don´t like Dickens, I like Thackery.” As James Branch Cabell ahs conveniently pointed out for all time, “to the philosophical mind it would seem equally sensible to decline to participate in a game of billiards on the ground that one was fond of herring. ” Nevertheless both controversies continue to rage and careless thinkers continue to force Dickens and the cat into categories. The dog-lovers, in the opposition sense ( for it is really possible to care for both dogs and cats, just as it is possible to read “Pendennis” and “Bleak House” with equal delight), say of the soft puss that he is sly and deceitful, thieving and ungrateful, fickle and cruel, a friend to home and not man. From this inconsiderate, and unconsidered, opintion the derogatory and catachrestic adjective “catty” has been derived, and adjective which when used in its ordinarily accepted sense I find particularly abhorrent, for who should be described as catty unless it be some gracious and graceful female, dignified and reserved, redolent of beauty and charm and the mystery of love? The cat-lovers on their side, so ardent, indeed, that in France they have earned the sobriquet of félinophiles enragés, have not been guiltless. Affectionate, intelligent, faithful, tried and true are some of the adjectives they lavish indiscriminately on their darling pets. It would seem, indeed, after reading some of the books, that cats spend their nine lives caring for the sick, saving children from burning buildings …

The rest of the essay is equally as witty, and can be found in the Chapter of One of Van Vechtens book The Tiger in the House from Dorset Press, originally published in 1920.