More Feline Stuff
Tom Cox muses on the nature of felines and our relationship with them.
Is there a more divisive animal on earth than the domestic cat? To those who dislike them, cats are aloof and self-obsessed: flighty animals, full of nonsense, who have never really done man much good, aside from the odd bit of low-level pest control.
I have to say that to me, that’s a reason to love them, not hate them. It’s that very aloofness, the indifference and the nonsense that appeals so much to me. A cat at play is full of such stuff and nonsense. Our Louis for example is a clown who will one day break my neck if I’m not careful. His favourite trick is to lie alongside a door and then wrap himself around my legs as I try to walk through. As my foot touches the floor he will deftly wind his body around it, shifting from one tottering appendage to the next. One day his dastardly scheme will succeed. But, one asks, who will then open the fridge?
As for the low level pest control, when we moved into this house, we encountered a veritable infestation of mice. Now, anyone who complains about cat shit in the garden would have something to complain about seeing every work surface in the kitchen smothered in mouse droppings. The buggers were everywhere. The immigration of ten cats soon put a stop to that. Indeed, Ptolemy – sadly no longer with us – had the matter under control within a couple of hours. He was seen strutting about the house with a mouse tail dangling from his chops. That sight will be an enduring memory of a dear friend.
To those who love them, they’re the colourful, unpredictable alternative to staid old dogs: creatures overflowing with comedy and beauty who will prepare you for real life and make every purr feel like a hard-won victory.
Quite so. When they offer affection, it is to be valued. There is something soothing about a cat gently purring as it digs its claws rhythmically into your legs. And, when one is sitting at the computer, composing some thoughtful prose, the helpful additions caused by a cat walking across the keyboard tends to concentrate the mind. I think that’s supposed to be the effect, anyway.
A suspicion of cats as grand manipulators goes right back to the time when we believed they were witches’ familiars. Now, as then, much of this suspicion emanates from men. “Cats are like women – they’re only nice to you when they want something!” opined one particularly idiotic caller on a radio phone-in I was involved in.
I see that Tom has come across the cat-hating idiocy, too. Cats know how to look after number one and that’s good survival.
Cats carry the burden of being superior beings, who also happen to be incredibly vulnerable. Therefore, they represent an easy target for the rage of the inferior, the bitter and the evil.
Ah, yes, it has always been so. As they look disdainfully down at an inferior world populated by hairless apes and propitiative dogs, they have to cope with the evils of man, the inferior beings who complain about shit in the garden of all things. One such creature calling himself private_fraser whines in the comments to Tom’s piece:
Sh*t machines is all they are
So, too, is every living organism that metabolises – as is pretty much pointed out with a suitably curt response from benmaxius.
I suppose you have found some way to process sustenance without defecating then?
Well, quite. It’s no worse than the badger shit I frequently encountered – our house was on their regular run and they use their droppings as a marker. Wonderful.
My cats are a source of great joy. They are clowns and acrobats and they would also like me to believe that they are deep thinkers, but I suspect that most of the time they are just sitting half asleep – or half awake, planning world domination. Or, at least, just how do you get that fridge open?
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