Donna Isenberg hunched over a tiny table carefully combing Static Guard through Catsafrats Shine On of Agonistes.

To the untrained eye, "Shiner" may look like a large Russian hat, but he is actually the World's Most Beautiful Cat, a title he won a few weeks ago after beating out a thousand other feline hopefuls at the Houston International Show.

It was a Saturday in early December, and Isenberg and her husband, Bruce, had been up since 4 a.m. getting Shiner, their grand champion Persian, ready for the Greater Baltimore Cat Club Show. "First, Bruce gives him a bath," explained Donna, who has short messy blond hair and wears maroon rhinestone reading glasses. "We usually use a moisturizing shampoo like Redken or Vidal Sassoon. After that, we rinse him in Downy Fabric Softener and water. Then I comb him out and blow dry him. It's like being a hairdresser - though I don't think people would want me to do their hair."

After 22 years of showing Persians, the Isenbergs are hoping that Shiner will become Top Cat, the Cat Fanciers' Association's highest honor, awarded at a June banquet to the feline who has defeated the most others. In pursuit of this dream, they fly with Shiner almost every weekend from their home in Los Angeles where they live with their 20-plus Persians, to shows like this one at Tall Cedars Hall in Parkville.

Shiner travels with two large duffel bags filled with Royal Canin Persian dry food, Shalimar perfume, his favorite maroon rag rug, Gerber's chicken baby food for treats, and lace drapes and good luck crystals for his cage. He also has a smaller bag entirely for his shampoos and hairdryers. "We squeeze our own clothes in where we can," said Bruce, a 65-year-old pharmacist who shares his prize cat's prominent eyes and slightly flattened features.

Held every December, the Greater Baltimore Cat Club Show is a crossroads of obsession, competition and class. Like other such feline festivals, the show attracts a wide range of pedigreed cat enthusiasts, from ultra-competitive breeders with disposable incomes and "Top Cat" dreams to working-class cat ladies who simply want someone else to admire their cats as much as they do. But even for the cat ladies, validation comes in the form of ribbons and rosettes, of judges holding your cat aloft and proclaiming it the Platonic ideal of cathood.

Unlike the democratic dog show world, where any breed can be best in show, in the world of competitive cats a single breed sits above the rest: Persians. Over the years, Persians like Shiner have swept the Top Cat award with the star-studded predictability of the Yankees, causing some resentment among owners of less popular breeds. "People who like Barbie dolls like Persians," sniffed Barbara Contrera of Rockville, as she slicked down Magique Noir, her Oriental Shorthair kitten with a simple shammy cloth and carried her off to the ring.

Although Persians remain dominant, there is another breed trying to claw its way into Top Cat contention: the Maine Coon. A plus-sized model of a cat that can weigh up to 20 pounds, the Coon is gaining popularity with its rugged, all-American look. "Persian people are Mercedes people," explained Susan Blevins of Westminster, as she sat in front of her five Coon cats during a break in the show. "Maine Coon people are SUV people."

Blevins' cage, topped with a large brass moose in honor of her cattery, MooseCoons, sits in the middle of the show hall, which is filled with endless rows of cages topped with studio photographs of their inhabitants and signs reading "I don't bite but my owner does" that discourage petting. Blevins, a stout woman with choppy red hair, and her friends and fellow Maine Coon breeders, Jane Boyd and Rose Spillman, are cat ladies. "The cats come first," said Boyd, whose arms are covered with scars from generations of kittens who've used them as scratching posts, "They eat caviar, I eat peanut butter."

Spillman, who lives in Severn, could relate. After retiring from the Navy, she took a job with the state highway department just to support her cats.

"The one thing that bonds us together is we really love our cats," Blevins explained. "At work, people see me taking out my pictures, and they run. Here, we can talk our own language."

The language of cat women includes a yowl of appreciation for one of the few cat men, a striking Fabio-look alike with a long mane of blond hair and the operatic name of Don Goglio. Goglio bounded through the rows of cages in a pair of tight blue jeans carrying Gator, his equally macho silver tabby Coon. The cat ladies, who like raffling things off, joked about raffling off Goglio, a plumber from Martinsburg, W.Va. "They're the manly couple," remarked his wife Tracy as Goglio fitted a bib on Gator so he wouldn't drool on his ruff.

Goglio, who has been breeding and exhibiting tiny white cats called Turkish Angoras for six years, claimed that he isn't very competitive about showing Gator, who was a gift from Spillman.

Competitive spirit

"I'll show you someone who's really competitive," Spillman whispered as she crept over to Ring 4 and pointed out a big burly man with beads of sweat on his forehead. Karl Bowman, who was scribbling down results in the official show entry book, seemed unable to say much of anything until the round of judging had ended and he had returned his three Coons to their cages.

An orthopedic horse vet from Raleigh, N.C., Bowman speaks in the careful, dignified tones of a cat statesman. Sitting beside his cage festooned with rosettes, he struggled to put his feelings for the Coon cat into words. "For me, it was one special cat I met," he explained gruffly, pausing to listen each time the announcer called a cat to the ring. "A big male. I just ... It's just that special animal. It happens."

Last year, one of Bowman's cats was the third best Coon in the country, though he doesn't like to brag. Asked to describe the personality of Tuvets Just Kiss Me, the Grand Champion Coon he has brought to the show, Bowman zipped opened his cage and called him out. "If you put your head up to his, he'll head butt you," he said proudly.

Overseeing all these displays of feline obsession is Norman Auspitz and his five fellow judges. Auspitz, who wears cat-themed ties and has been known to quote from Shakespeare and Gertrude Stein in the ring, has been a Cat Fanciers' Association judge since 1991. He got his first cat, an Abyssinian who liked to jump on him from the top of doors, in 1970. Ten years later, while at a New York City cat show looking for that special cat to breed with one of his own, Auspitz met his future wife, Martha. "I liked her cats then I fell in love with her," he explained.

Auspitz, who lives in Louisville, Ky., with Martha and their 15 cats, travels twice a month to shows. Like the other judges at the Baltimore show, he presided over his own ring, seeing every one of the 333 eligible cats over the course of the two-day event. He was paid 90 cents for every cat he judged, a small but greatly appreciated sum as most cat breeders operate in the red.

On Sunday morning, Auspitz judged a class of Champion Persians including Shiner and Marcus M'stique of Kadji-Ki, a black female owned by Jason Wright, a middle school teacher from Bensalem, Pa. During the previous day's competitions, M'stique had nosed ahead of Shiner who was more interested in daydreaming about Kharisma's Oh What A Night, another Persian in his class who was in heat.

Auspitz took Shiner out of his cage and over to the judging table where he ran his hands over him and then held him aloft like a pelt. While dog shows factor in training, cat shows are all beauty contest. But the winning cats must also have what Auspitz calls show presence. "You can't really define it," he said. "Sometimes a cat just stands on that table looking like it knows it's hot stuff."

Not a love tap

But sometimes a cat just can't be bothered. M'stique, who according to Wright can get a little testy in the ring, was having a rough morning. She looked put out, even for a Persian, and took a swipe at Auspitz as he returned her to her cage.

Though it is rare, judges have been mauled by reluctant competitors, including one judge whose hand was injured so badly he had to have plastic surgery. More often, cats "blow" (the cat ladies' term for a feline freak out) in the show hall, and riotous chases by their equally freaked-out owners ensue. Cats have been known to get sick or soil themselves during competition (a particularly grievous event for the owner of, say, a white Persian). But perhaps most distressing to cat show enthusiasts are the antics of animal activists like People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. When they are not hanging around the Victoria's Secret fashion show, PETA activists have been known to turn up at cat shows and try to liberate the bewildered contestants from their cages.

After dangling a cat toy in front of his favorites' cages, Auspitz decided to give the Best in Breed ribbon to Shiner. M'stique's crankiness had cost her; she came in second.

At the end of the day, Auspitz would pick his 10 best cats of the entire show and award the coveted rosettes. Across the show hall, tension was mounting as cats lost or gained a final chance to bring home a rosette. In Ring 1, Don Goglio groaned audibly as Judge Lynn Search passed over Gator for a best-in-breed ribbon, dashing his hopes that Gator would advance and win a best cat rosette. Back at Gator's cage, Tracy and the Coon ladies consoled Goglio by talking about their favorite subject: cats.

"Don tells his friends whenever we have kittens," said Tracy to the appreciative Coon ladies. "He's a happy father."

Goglio perked up and claimed that his fellow plumbers were supportive of his feline family and even looked at his photos. "What are they going to say?" he added. "I'm bigger than them."

Toward the end of the day, Karl Bowman sat anxiously beside his Coon cats' cages waiting to hear whether Auspitz would name Just Kiss Me as one of his 10 best cats in show. "Right now, it's quiet," he said, "But in a few minutes, this place is going to go crazy."

Announcing finalists

Suddenly, in no particular order, show clerk Mark Lovelace began calling cats to Auspitz's ring. Shiner was in the running. So was M'stique. Bowman sprung out of his chair as Just Kiss Me was called up with them.

The Isenbergs, looking remarkably well rested after another 4 a.m. wake-up call, stood around the ring and were soon joined by Karl Bowman and Jason Wright. As Auspitz waited for the final cats to be carried high in the air into the ring like exotic dishes, the tension was palpable. Would M'stique's earlier misbehavior count against her? Would Shiner advance that much closer to Top Cat? Would Just Kiss Me become the Jackie Robinson of the Maine Coons and finally break up the all-Persian big league? And how about Marcus Mojo Jojo, a black short-haired Persian who was another national favorite?

This was the moment when obsession hit its crescendo.

Like a Miss America contest, Auspitz announced the winners in reverse order. The second cat he pulled out of its cage was Bowman's. "I love the strength of his muzzle, his head structure, his incredible bone, the depth of the chest," he barked before holding Just Kiss Me aloft, "He is my ninth best cat in show!"

Everyone clapped and Bowman, wiping sweat off his brow, nodded humbly.

The sixth cat he pulled out of its cage was M'stique. "A black female grand champion with an opinion!" declared Auspitz as M'stique angrily accepted her fifth-place rosette.

Soon only two cats remained-Marcus Mojo Jojo and Shiner, who in spite of the stress of the moment had fallen asleep. The Isenbergs waited calmly as Auspitz walked down the row of cages until he reached Marcus Mojo Jojo. Donna's eyes misted over like a proud mother.

The last cat that Auspitz carried up to the judge's table was a groggy but congenial Shiner. "This is a black Persian grand champion with wonderful eye expression, a proper muzzle, and a great depth of chest," Auspitz shouted. "This cat just does something for me! It's my best in show!"

The room burst into applause.

After thanking Auspitz and collecting Shiner and his rosette, the Isenbergs returned to their cage and started packing up their combs and hairsprays to catch a 6 o'clock flight back to L.A. All in all, Shiner had won three best-in-show rosettes, two second-place rosettes and one third. In the cat ladies' parlance, the Isenbergs were doing a great job of "running their cat," keeping him on track for a shot at Top Cat. Back at home, he would celebrate his Baltimore victory with a can of Gerber's chicken baby food.