This fictional autobiography by Salvador Dalí pet ocelot gives a less than complementary view of life with humans. Eli, the small panther, makes it clear from the start that his name is not Babou. The name Babou was inflicted upon him by his human master, just one of the many indignities, such as loss of claws and having to wear a collar and a leash, that must be endured when living among humans. It’s all quite frustrating for an ocelot who’s not free to roam, hunt, or lounge in the tree of his choice. He longs for his childhood home. And appropriate for life with a surrealist, Babou—excuse me—Eli dreams a lot. He also tries with the help of a fellow ocelot and the neighborhood cats to understand the humans surrounding him and their odd behavior and habits.

Eli’s frustrations and melancholy are told with a slyly implied and humorous critique of humanity, especially those he encounters in his travels in Europe and North America. It makes the reader wonder if Romanian author Diana Carligeanu chose this penname for her English language novella to call to mind the penname of Samuel Langhorne Clemens who wrote about these same humans in a similar fashion. ( )