Cat calls don't even work on cats.

It seems I need to lecture my brothers once again about how not to treat a lady.

I took my casual lunchtime stroll through downtown San Diego. There's usually a variety of characters milling about and today was no exception. The first man who stood out was an impeccably dressed fellow. He wore a gray suit with a purple fedora and purple crocodile skin shoes. I'll not describe his skin tone because it's irrelevant; dickheads come in all colors. Across the street from him was a fine young lady, dressed as one would expect on a warm spring day. I noticed. He noticed. I kept my inside voice inside. He let his out.

"Yo, shawty. How'd you like to come strip at my club?"

Naturally, she ignored his comment and sped up her pace.

I thought, In the entire history of mankind, has that ever worked? Has a man ever yelled anything toward a woman across the street that resulted in (and I'll widen the target here) a friendly discussion?

Nope. It doesn't happen. In fact, if she were to respond in a positive manner it would be absolutely brilliant.

"Hey there, handsome. What's that you say? You like what you see?"
"Yes, ma'am, I do."
"And what's this about a club you mentioned?"
"I am a proprietor at a gentleman's club."
"Well, blow lilac scented breezes across my baby peach. It must be my lucky day."
"It is."
"I just happen to be in the hunt for a new occupation and as luck would have it, a job falls right into my glitter-laced lap. Where, do tell, shall I apply?"
"Um, well ..."
"Say, why don't you take me to lunch and let me blow you, just to get that out of the way. Then we can talk business."

Men, I implore you: Don't volley comments across streets toward women because your service will not be returned. It doesn't matter how sincere you are or how flattering the comment is. She doesn't want to hear it shouted at her. Before you get any other cockamamie ideas, don't hold a boombox over your head playing 80s love songs either.

Here is what you may do, politely:

• Smile at her.
• Tip your cap.

These are borderline creepy, but acceptable as long as she's not a minor:

• Ask is she's familiar with the area and if she can direct you to her favorite restaurant.
• Remark to her how her loveliness just made your day.

If her reaction is positive, you may proceed with further questioning, but once she objects, beat it.

Here, I'll try a cat call on my cat, Symon.

"Yo, Symon. Get you furry little ass up here."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to."
"Insufficient reason. Back to sleep."
"Hey! Get up here now, you handsome ball of orangeness."
"Do you have food?"
"No."
*yawn*
"I am your master. Obey me."
"You should have gotten a dog, Master. Nighty night now."

See?

Indiana Joans

I read so much dating advice you’d think I’d be syndicated by now. Today, a column told women to be adventurous, which would make them like catnip to men. This was obviously not written by a cat owner nor a man, for that matter. I, on the other hand, have two cats, one bag of catnip, and zero bed warmers. Hence, I am qualified. I’ll dump a bit on the floor and document the reaction. Then, you can decide if you want your man all high on your sexual catnip.

Syd (black, skinny, sees ghosts) let loose a tiny mew and crawled over the nip. Now, he’s rolling onto his back and squirming around in it. He’s taking a breather. Let me interview him.

“How’s it going, Syd?”

“Groovy.”

“You look like a cheap slice of pizza overly coated in oregano.”

“All right.”

“How are you feeling? Horny, at all?”

“Do we have any Cheetos?”

“No. Does this make you want to be with a kitten, perhaps?”

“Ew, don’t be gross. She has to be a cat—at least two-and-a-half.”

“Ah ha, so you are feeling horny.”

“Wait, let me get this crap out of my eyes. OK. Now, what? Horny? No, not really. I mean, I’m not about to turn down a good licking, but right now I could eat a fucking carp.”

“Great.”

I’m taking that as one vote nay. Perhaps my other cat, Symon (orange, chubby, lazy), will give me a better interview. I’ve dumped a line on the floor and here he comes. Lovely. He’s eating it.

“Dickhead, you’re not supposed to eat it.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re supposed to smell it and rub around in it.”

“Hey, do I tell you what to do with your M&Ms?”

“There’s no nutritional value in catnip, you idiot.”

“I like the way it tastes. Why don’t you roll around in it?”

“Fine. How is it making you feel?”

“Well, a few pieces are stuck … say, do we have any toothpicks? I have this pesky food pocket.”

“Stop eating the catnip! Now, does it make you want to make out?”

“With Syd? Jesus, man.”

“No, not with your brother, with a girlie cat.”

“What are my other choices and do any of them include salty flakes of tuna?”

“Fine. It makes you hungry.”

“Pop, honestly, breathing makes me hungry.”

So much for that. Ladies, go right ahead and be adventurous if you want your man to roll around on the floor and do wind sprints to the refrigerator and snack drawer.

What does the writer mean by “adventurous” anyway? I don’t see how smearing on some eye-black, climbing out the window, crawling under the porch, and ca-cawing like a crow is going to make any man horny. Perhaps sexually adventurous is what’s intended. I once had a date lift her skirt and flop over the arm of my La-Z-Boy. She gave me a devilish wink. I fetched some ping-pong balls and a catcher’s mitt—not what she intended. What do I know?