Right Said Fred . . . er . . . Vladimir

I'm too sexy for my cat/
Too sexy for my cat/
Poor pussy, poor pussy cat

Right Said Fred, "I'm Too Sexy," 1992

Let's call it The Curious Incident of the Kitten in the Daytime.

I can't let the month slip away from me--despite the war in the Middle East, despite the train (or do I mean car?) wreck that is Mel Gibson's life and career--without writing about this rather unusual public display of affection reported in the news earlier in the month--the "kitten-kissing" perpetrated by the President of Russia upon the stomach of a five-year-old boy named Nikita, as he visited the Kremlin.

In short, what happened was this: Nikita visited the Kremlin. President Vladimir Putin spotted the young boy, stopped to talk with him, and in a "spontaneous gesture of affection" lifted the boy's shirt and kissed him on the belly. Putin later said that the boy reminded him of a kitten and that he couldn't help but kiss and cuddle him.

Well, I don't know about your worldview, but to me, it just screams Newbery-Caldecott Children's Book Award winner. The simpler solution would be to invite Peggy Rathmann in to pick up where she left off with Officer Buckle and Gloria and pen Officer Putin and Nikita . Better still might be for Kevin Henkes to adapt his work, Kitten's First Full Moon, turning it into Kitten's First Full Belly Kiss. Or David Small could always produce a sequel to So You Want to be President--something like So You Want to Be Manhandled by the President of Russia.

Admittedly, it was a questionable, odd, even slightly lewd action, at least to Western European and North American eyes. Such very intimate contact made with the body of such a young boy, the tongues wagged. Tsk, tsk, isn't this what got Michael Jackson and Gary Glitter in trouble?

Well, no. Kissing a five-year-old's stomach in public is a long way from trying to slip "Jesus Juice" and lord knows what else to pubescent boys at Neverland Ranch. Saying you want to cuddle a cute little boy like a kitten is a far cry from trying to use your hard currency to barter young girls from their parents in a Third World country.

So not the same at all.

Initially, I was a little surprised by the encounter as well. But then I recalled the time I traveled to the former Soviet Union in the mid-1980s--until Dick Cheney and Karl Rove outed me as a CIA operative, the bastards, and I was forced to leave. While spending a month in Moscow and Leningrad, I found that Russian men in general weren't hung up on the whole men-don't-touch and interpersonal space weirdness you encounter in the U.S. and other environs. You know the behavior as if you'd read about it in Nature or Science:

Among colonies of the species, Yellow-Bellied Tight-Assed Non-Sap-Sucking Titmouse, it has been observed that in many situations, two males of the species will never sit together at a theater during an action movie. It is believed that this odd, apparently learned, behavior is due to the male birds' desire not to "look like a couple of homos" (Falwell and Robertson, 1969) to the other animals, or, possibly to avoid the risk of temptation in a darkened cinema during the film's gratuitous love scene.

Scientists are puzzled by this behavior, given the Yellow-Bellied Titmouse's propensity for buttocks-patting during play rituals and bear-hugging and sloppy kissing during alcohol-induced, trance-like states occurring during some social interactions, especially those exhibited during the Titmouse's annual migration for Spring Break in Cozumel and documented extensively in the nature film, "Guys Gone Wild."

My recollection is that, unlike our own native species, Russian men are quite demonstrative and affectionate, in a purely friendly and intensely physical way. It was odd for an uptight American to experience this, to see soldiers walk arm-in-arm down the street, to have grown men do the same with me, as well as hug and cuddle me while (primarily) sober in a public place just because they liked me for being me. For being an American.

That's so rare that, cheap date that I am, I'll take my affection where I can get it. Even from a bunch of Communists.

Other memories come forward. I recall once being at a hotel, the then-new but crumbling, Swedish-designed Prebaltiskaya (like a Volvo made at a Lada factory), and meeting some students celebrating their graduation at the hotel restaurant. Once we connected that evening, we were inseparable, talking, laughing, hugging, as if we'd known each other for ages. They even went so far as to escort me, arms wrapped comfortingly around my waist, to the men's room. We approached the urinal together and when I mumbled in a mix of Russian and English, "I'll take it from here," we all giggled. Completely innocently.

I even can recall being invited home by a Russian man one evening, where he proceeded to wake up the missus to meet me, then put on a Tina Turner record ("What's Love Got to Do with It?" if I remember correctly), poured me numerous shots of vodka, and then proceeded to . . . ah, well, never mind about that. Perhaps some members of the Russian Titmouse species are truly comfortable when it comes to man-on-man interpersonal space issues.

But rest assured, dear, sensitive readers, nothing untoward took place. Never, I repeat, never try to drink a Russian under the table--unless of course you want to pass out in a stranger's flat in suburban Tallinn, Estonia, and enjoy the thought of stumbling your way home at dawn. Nonetheless, at those moments, vomiting repeatedly in the apartment bathroom from low-grade alcohol poisoning will serve you well as a perfect anaphrodisiac.

Ultimately, though, I have to stand in defense of Vlad the Alleged Paedo-paler and proclaim him innocent (or at least not proven guilty) of all charges.

So let's get our collective mind out of the sexual gutter for a mo' and put it back in the political gutter where it belongs. Instead, ponder Putin's real reason behind this curious Kissing Bandit imitation.

Is there perhaps an election looming just beyond the steppes? Is the race so close that the .ru internet domain child pornography sector represents a major voting bloc to be courted? Or maybe the gesture was designed to put an end--for once and for all--to all those salacious rumors that Little Lord Putin came to power not through his political maneuvering and tactical deal-making but instead because he knew just the right way to make the late Boris Yeltsin turn beet red, then immediately melt into a puddle of borscht? Therefore, perhaps, comparing the boy to a kitten is Putin's image team's Cyrillic political shorthand for saying that the President of Russia prefers . . . pussy?

Oh, behave. (And I did, because that was originally the title of this post.)

I suspect it's more like this, though: A strong-armed political leader who used to head the KGB needs all the kinder-gentler moments he can get on camera. Kissing a child's belly and comparing him to a kitten seems to me like a crafty ploy by a lizard-like dictator to win votes from the mothers of Russia, and, thus, Mother Russia itself.

Still, it's easy to see how the incident could be miscontrued. I mean, it's probably the reason Our Fearless Leader decided that it was entirely appropriate--in fact, good conduct becoming a former Air National Guard officer and a frat gentleman--to give German Chancellor Angela Merkel an impromptu and unasked-for shoulder rub.

"Hehe, when in Saint Petersburg for the G8 Summit, do as the Saint Peters do, hehe."