MSI Press Blog

  I used to think housecleaning was about control. Then, I got a cat. Now I know. It’s about adaptation, humility, and the ability to clean the same spot five times without losing your mind. Here’s what my cat taught me: Clean around the cat. If he’s sleeping on the couch, the couch is off-limits. If he’s sprawled across the laundry, you wait. Cleaning becomes a dance of detours. Fur is eternal. You can vacuum, lint-roll, and sweep, but the fur will return. Accept it. Embrace it. Learn to measure cleanliness in layers, not absolutes. Mystery crumbs are part of life. Cats knock things over. Cats drag things in. Cats leave things behind. You will clean up substances you cannot identify. You will not win. Timing is everything. Never mop before zoomies. Never dust before a nap. Never assume the litter box will stay clean for more than 10 minutes. Clutter is strategic. That pile of papers? A launchpad. That laundry basket? A throne. That box you meant to recycle? A fortress. C...

  My cat didn’t teach me stealth. I already had that — decades of tiptoeing through sleeping households and slipping out of church pews without bumping a kneeler. What my cat taught me was precision . Cats don’t waste motion. They don’t lumber, they calculate . Every leap, every twist, every landing is a master class in economy. Watching mine stalk a moth across the living room, I realized: this is the real ninja training. Not the dramatic kicks, but the quiet calibration — the way she moves only when it matters. She taught me balance, too. When she perches on the narrow arm of a chair, tail flicking, I see the art of equilibrium. It’s not about muscle; it’s about awareness. A ninja doesn’t fight gravity — she negotiates with it. And patience. A cat can wait for hours, motionless, until the moment is right. I used to think that was laziness. Now I know it’s strategy. A ninja doesn’t rush. She waits for the opening. Finally, recovery. When my cat misjudges a jump and lands awkwardly...

  Grandmothering is an art — part patience, part presence, part knowing when to step in and when to let life unfold. I thought I learned that from experience. Turns out, my cat had been tutoring me for years. Cats are natural grandmas: they move at their own pace, they supervise everything, and they believe deeply in the power of a well‑timed snack. Living with one taught me more about grandmothering than any parenting book ever did. Here are the lessons that stuck: Rituals matter. Cats thrive on the sacredness of routine — the morning greeting, the evening check‑in, the predictable place at the table. Grandchildren do too. Rituals become memory anchors. Patience is a form of love. A cat will sit beside you quietly for as long as it takes. No rush, no pressure. Children feel that same safety when you match their tempo instead of hurrying them along. Gentleness doesn’t mean fragility. Cats are soft, but they are not weak. Grandmas are the same. Strength wrapped in warmth is its...

  From US Review of Books: Feig’s conversational style is witty and disarming. His self-deprecating humor lends charm and vulnerability to his ideas and opinions on becoming a better individual. Rooted firmly in a young, often single man’s outlook, he nevertheless manages to address aspects of life relevant to people of all ages. If you enjoy humor and love cats—the former being a prerequisite for the latter—chances are you’ll also be attracted to this fun-filled homage to felines. Read the rest of the review by Joe Kilgore  HERE . About the book: Jeremy Feig was at rock bottom - broke, alone, and living in a shoebox-sized apartment. At the same time, his cat was perfectly content. What was her secret? She couldn't say it out loud, but it was clear she had all the answers to living a good life. How My Cat Made Me a Better Man is a hilarious self-help book for guys that gals like, too, based on the lessons of an edgy cat named Shelly. It's packed with useful advice on topics li...