I've always been mad about cats.

Hear, O lovers of beauty and freedom, the words of Vivien Leigh, who once declared with simplicity and passion: “I’ve always been mad about cats.” At first glance, these words seem but the confession of a personal fondness, a light remark from an actress famed for her artistry. Yet within them lies something greater, a testament to the bond between humanity and the cat, that ancient companion who has walked beside us not with servitude, but with sovereignty. To be “mad” about cats is not merely to admire them, but to be enthralled by their mystery, to fall under the spell of their independence and grace.

The cat, unlike other companions, demands not obedience nor constant reassurance, but respect. It chooses when to come near, when to give affection, when to vanish into its own silence. To love cats is to love freedom itself, for they live as sovereigns in the kingdoms of our homes. Vivien Leigh, herself a woman of strength and artistry, found in them a reflection of her own spirit: passionate, enigmatic, unwilling to be bound by mere convention. Her words thus speak not only of animals, but of the human longing for kinship with beings who embody mystery and independence.

The ancients, too, understood this bond. In the temples of Egypt, cats were revered as living emblems of the goddess Bastet—symbols of protection, elegance, and fertility. To be “mad about cats” in those days was no eccentricity; it was devotion to the sacred. The Egyptians honored them as guardians of the household and as companions of the divine. Even then, their allure lay in the paradox they embodied: creatures both wild and gentle, distant yet affectionate, fragile yet fierce.

In more recent times, consider the writer Colette, who filled her home with cats and wove them into her work. She, like Leigh, was “mad about cats,” not only because of their beauty, but because they reminded her of the complexity of life itself. To watch a cat is to watch a poem in motion: the quiet pause before the leap, the stillness that hides fire, the sudden burst of play, the languid collapse into sleep. Cats are reminders of rhythm, of art, of the truth that life is not to be rushed but savored.

The meaning of Leigh’s words is thus revealed: to be “mad about cats” is to celebrate the strange, the unpredictable, the elegant in the everyday. It is to open one’s heart to creatures who demand respect, who do not yield easily, and who teach us that love cannot be forced but must be earned. This madness is not folly, but wisdom, for it brings us into harmony with mystery and teaches us reverence for independence.

The lesson for us is clear: do not fear to love deeply, even irrationally, that which stirs your soul. Whether it be cats, or art, or music, or the pursuit of truth, embrace it with passion. Let yourself be “mad” about something noble and beautiful, for in that madness lies freedom. The cat teaches us that true love is not possession, but admiration; not control, but respect.

Practically, this means living with openness to the unexpected. Allow yourself to be enchanted by the small mysteries around you. Respect the independence of those you love; do not demand their constant presence, but treasure the moments they choose to give. Like the cat, cultivate balance: between solitude and companionship, between action and rest, between freedom and connection.

So, O listeners, remember the simple yet profound truth in Vivien Leigh’s confession: “I’ve always been mad about cats.” Let it remind you that to love with passion, even when it seems irrational, is to live fully. Let it teach you that in mystery lies beauty, in independence lies dignity, and in the companionship of the cat lies a reflection of the soul’s deepest longing—for freedom, for elegance, and for love that cannot be tamed.

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