This move to Somerville has been a real breath of fresh air for me. And one of the many happy additions to my little vita nuova here has been a very low-maintenance house cat called Batman (for his distinctive Batman-like markings, obviously, although to my knowledge his namesake does not wear white fur boots—well, maybe the George Clooney one did in secret).

I am not one to blog about pets, but Batman is less a pet to us than we are pets to him, I've gathered. I don't mind. I just think of him as another little person, furrier than most I've known, it's true, but also cleverer and less cloying than many.

He's easier to communicate with, that's for sure. His needs are few, and he's up front with them. He's not fussy, not too needy, either, he doesn't seem to hold a grudge when you shoo him off the bed, and he basically knows when to bugger off, all of which are qualities you want in anyone who's hanging out in your house without any clothes on and showing off his bare ass all the time.

I can't vouch for his opinion of me, but we get along OK.

I haven't had a pet since college, and then it was a dog. I could see myself becoming one of those people who likes animals—or certain animals, at least—more than people (I would say "certain people," but then I could be anyone), but I'm not yet ready to go all PETA on you.

Animals, like people, have to behave themselves if they want my respect and esteem. Throwing poop will not endear you to me, and if you are the type of animal who does that kind of thing you will not be welcome in my home. I'm sorry, but I have to draw the line somewhere. Eating and scratching around in it, as some of our dearest pets do—well, we would all rather you didn't, I think, but if you won't tell, we won't ask, all right? Dogs aren't known for their impeccable taste, after all, and cats can go over the score with their OCD occasionally. That's just how it is.

As I've said, I hold people to the same general standards. Some make the cut, others don't. Activists? Well, I'm afraid that activism—almost any ism, really, with the exceptions of Abstract Expressionism, for which I have a soft-spot, deontologism, henotheism and Vorticism (hirsutism, priapism, and jujuism will be dealt with on a case-by-case basis, spoonerisms are always welcome)—activism, as I was saying, is bad for digestion, so you probably won't be getting any invites to future dinner parties if you're an ismist. Nobody wants to hear it.

As for PETA, I try to treat everyone ethically, animals included, but being ethical does not mean tolerating boorish, brutish behavior in the guise of protecting our furry little four-legged friends. What do you get when you do? Remember the guy who assassinated that Dutch politician, Pim Fortyn? An animal rights activist. Go figure.

We don't have all that much to worry about from animal rights activists here in the USA. Though I did date a Jewish vegetarian once who, in his futile attempts to break me of my carnivorous ways, pointed me to Biblical texts, my favorite of which was Numbers 22:32, where the angel of God asks Balaam, "Wherefore has thou smitten thine ass?"—a question I promptly added to my personal Prospective Life Partner Questionnaire (available upon request).

But in the UK, they're nuts. Take PETA's campaign launched a few years back to give donated furs to the homeless for Christmas. This is pure PETA. According to The Guardian, "The charity used to bury or burn the furs but has decided to donate them to people in need."

With how rabid animal rights activists are in Britain this is a great way to not only get rid of furs, but of homeless people, too. Here PETA's giving people a way to flog off all their tacky, morally repugnant attire on the poor. Poor people are so low on the moral food-chain apparently, that they can’t really be blamed for wearing fur like more spiritually enlightened rich folk can. Is this where PETA’s shameless quest for publicity leads us? The poor as walking billboards depicting the ends of animal cruelty? As living hairshirts?

Our stewardship of the animal kingdom is a complicated thing, to be sure. Take England's fox-hunting ban. There was talk of having to put down as many as 20,000 hounds because of it. Or how about the time activists liberated thousands of minks from a mink farm somewhere in England and the critters ran roughshod, devastating untold acres of flora and fauna in the surrounding countryside.

I don't mean to bang on. I like animals. It's just that some of them go better with a basil cream sauce and a moderately-priced Pinot Grigio. Not Batman, though.

He would probably go better with a Châteauneuf-du-Pape, maybe an '88. But only if he misbehaves.