Humans Versus Staph: Further Evidence of My Perverted Atheistic Values

If I had to choose between saving the life of a good dog or a bad man, the man would die, and the same would be true if I had to choose between the endangered mountain gorilla and all 37-million humans of metropolitan Tokyo.

“You don’t know anyone in Tokyo, and might not racism play into how breezily you would render them dead? What would you say if you had to choose between a species of blind fish that only lives in a single isolated cave versus yourself and the 4-million other humans in Oregon?” 

Whether my decision involved Tokyo or Oregon, it would be based upon my belief that the value of an entire species outweighs that of millions of humans. It is also true that cave fish only harm their prey whereas we humans harm everything but the germs, rodents, and insects that prey on us, and so it is that the earth would be better off if several million of us were suddenly dead.

“How many humans would you trade for the Anopheles Mosquito, the Norway Rat, or a staph-causing bacteria?”

While it’s hard to imagine the harm of killing-off a flesh-eating microbe, destroying the Anopheles Mosquito is another matter because of the species that feed upon them and are themselves fed upon by other species. Even so, if I were a caribou whose breathing passages were being clogged by clouds of mosquitoes, my choice would be easy. My point is that immediate suffering could inspire me to adopt a remedy that would make the overall problem worse, yet the absence of immediate suffering gives my species an excuse for rationalizing problems out of existence; for example, greed, global warming and habitat destruction.

As I see it, my species relates to the earth like staph germs relate to their host. What I mean to say is that while staph germs might become fat and sassy from feasting on human flesh today, it never occurs to them to cut back in order to keep their host alive for tomorrow, although when it dies, they die. How, then, are we superior to staph? Given our wasted potential for good, how are we even the moral equals of staph?

 

Irrelevant Endnote: Peggy is sitting beside me (on her own desktop computer) with Harvey purring loudly in her lap. A new universe was born when he entered the world, its reality being so all-encompassing that I can scarcely remember the old universe despite the fact that it occupied 69/70ths of my life. We came very near not applying to keep Harvey (for many months, we had been his foster parents), and when we finally did apply, we came very near being forced to give him up due to our age (I’m 70, and Peggy—the poor old thing—is 69).  How nightmarish the image of being forced to surrender him to the young woman who wanted him, and how unimaginable the possibility of someday losing him to death (his or ours). What would I not give for him? How much trouble, how much money, even how many lives? Some people love humans. I love cats. The five that I have aren’t nearly enough, but if I had more, I would be spread too thin for intimacy (a recognition that causes me to question the values of cat-laden households).

It is said that the Abrahamic deity created humans in his likeness (as if that’s a good thing), but I’m much more invested in the beautiful and virtuous cat goddess, Bastet, who so admired cats that she molded herself in their likeness. I have a statue of Bastet on the window shelf overlooking my bed, and I often open my eyes in the wee hours to see her outlined against the semi-darkness of the city sky.

The Immortal Harvey (d.o.b. June 18, 2019)

I share my home with four gentle and obedient cats who adorn my life like precious jewels, and a fifth, Harvey, who is cocky and impudent. Only he fights over food; only he brazenly ignores my wishes; and only he makes me run from one end of the house to the other to see what he’s up to when it sounds like he’s rearranging the furniture. He stares into my eyes with the cunning of a cartoon fox, and he disobeys me even while I’m scolding him for disobedience. I chase him around the house yelling, waving my arms, and, sometimes, slapping the upholstery with a yardstick, but after a few circuits, he rolls onto his back—like ten-year-old Brewsky did when he was a kitten—and invites me to rub his belly.

Harvey is my only cat who, when we’re cuddled-up in bed at night and I’m rubbing his belly with one hand, pins my other with his claws and squeezes a finger between his teeth as he dozes off. Peggy insists that I not let him bite me, but I only follow her advice on the rare occasions when he causes me pain.

But why does Harvey pin me with teeth and claws? A cat’s unprotected abdomen is so vulnerable to evisceration—by another cat’s hind claws—that many cats will bite anyone who touches that area. Then there are cats like Brewsky who will allow humans to do pretty much anything to them (I sometimes answer the door with Brewsky hanging upside down from under a forearm). Harvey resorts to the middle ground of allowing access to his abdomen while keeping his teeth and claws engaged. 

For much of my life, I found it intimidating to sit or lie while other males were standing, so when I did, I would keep an eye on them, although I knew that it offered little protection. When I observe Harvey’s protective measures, I see myself. Although Brewsky always gave me complete access to his body, I appreciate Harvey’s gift even more because his desire to surrender goes against his need for safety.

As I stroke him, I lose myself in adoration of his foxy face and long fur—I prefer longhaired cats, and he’s my only longhair. Although Peggy laughed when I called my little ten pound bundle of cuteness a man’s cat, Harvey truly is a badass who goes for broke while roughhousing with fifteen-pound Brewsky. Yet, I know that Brewsky would never really harm him, and I also know that Harvey’s exaggerated self-confidence is the result of human protectiveness. May Peggy and I never find ourselves unable to maintain the illusion, and may he never discover how nearly powerless his human parents really are. Perhaps, it would be possible for me to love him more, although my heart would burst if I tried.

Two Days to Go: Why I Hate Them So

 

Trump has spent four years sowing division and heaping hatred upon anyone who disagrees with him. He has told thousands of demonstrable lies; purged the government of those whom value duty to nation above loyalty to him; done his utmost to prevent Democrats from voting and their votes from being counted; and trashed every value that I hold dear. Those who voted for Trump made all this possible, and are determined that it continue. The harm that Trump has done to people like I--and millions of others--is harm for which I hold them responsible.

Two days ago, Trump supporters used their vehicles to harass a busload of Biden supporters who were on their way to an event in Austin, Texas (the event was cancelled). Trump, who has a long history of encouraging violence on the part of his supporters, tweeted photos of the harassers along with the words, "I LOVE TEXAS!" (Earlier in the week, a similar incident occurred in Missouri, and the FBI is investigating both incidents.)

Election day violence (the election is November 3) is a major concern in America. The reason for the concern is that Trump has been saying for months that he can only lose if the election is stolen, so in a country that contains more privately-owned guns than people (most guns being in the hands of Republicans), and is under the leadership of a violence-promoting demagogue, violence seems likely. Might it get worse than a few out of control demonstrations--might there be an attempted coup if Trump calls for one? No one knows.

I do know that, prior to Trump, fears of election violence like that which is seen in the Third World didn't exist here because people imagined that the country was strong and stable. Yet, in four short years, America has gone from being the world's most powerful democracy to standing upon the precipice of fascism and possible collapse. I feared Trump and his supporters from the outset, but because I trusted that America's laws and democratic institutions would protect us, I didn't foresee that two days before the election of 2020, I would be writing such a post.

But why is it that the very flag-wavers (they have now swapped the American flag for the various Trump flags) who sing, "I'm proud to be an American because at least I know I'm free," support a man who runs roughshod over the very values they formerly expressed a willingness to die for? I can but point out that their words are the same words that were spoken in 1930's Germany, which were the same words that are spoken by all people who regard "strong-man" dictators as the solution to their nation's problems. 

If I awakened one day and discovered that half of my fellow citizens were child-molesters who passionately defended child-molestation and attended large rallies (during a pandemic, no less) at which they chanted "Lock Them Up!" whenever their leader criticized the opponents of child molestation, I would wonder what signs I overlooked that might have allowed me to look beyond the fresh paint adorning their souls to the rot underneath. Even if Trump loses and even if there is no attempt at a coup, I will never again respect his supporters, not because they are dead to me, but because I foolishly imagined that their authoritarianism was tempered by decency. It was not the first time that I so wanted to believe in the goodness of people that I traded truth for fantasy.

Thoughts Upon Learning that Trump has Covid

During Tuesday's 90-minute debate, Trump yelled almost nonstop at  both Biden and the Fox News moderator and interrupted them 128 times. During the 2016 debate, he interrupted Hilary Clinton a mere 51 times, but he did it while pacing behind her.

Q* is a Filipino muckraker who passes himself off as an American government insider, and is wildly popular with Trumpians, because while they have no problem with ignoring logic, science, and legitimate media sources, they're just as eager to embrace absurdities that serve their political ends. 

Q regularly accuses Democrats of running pedophile rings and performing Satanic rituals during which they drink the blood of toddlers.  Yesterday, I heard Trump call Q's lies "a good thing."  When Trump was running for president in 2016, Republicans said that they were tired of Democrats thinking they were stupid, so they wasted no time in proving it.

The U.S. has 4% of the world's population but 25% of its Covid cases (213,052 Americans have died of Covid). Trump regularly mocks people who wear masks, claims that the virus will go away "as if by magic," and has been holding large rallies during which it's hard to spot a single mask wearer except for the ones who are on the speaker's stand behind Trump--after all, Trump's health matters. He has even held these rallies in places that have mask mandates. During this week's debate, Trump ridiculed Biden for mask-wearing, and Trump and Trump's family refused to honor the Cleveland Clinic's mask requirement.

Last night, it was announced that Mr. and Mrs. Trump had been added to the day's roster of 36,000 Americans who were diagnosed with what Trump insists on calling the "China Virus." Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell reacted  to the news by continuing to promise that he will bring Trump's recent Supreme Court appointment to a vote in less than a month despite having stalled an Obama appointment for ten and a half months by arguing that appointments shouldn't be voted on during an election year. 

Perhaps, the Trumpian insanity will soon come to an end, either thanks to Covid or to the November election. If the latter should occur, who knows what all those Republicans will do with all their assault rifles? After all, their "Great Leader" has been doing his utmost to insure violence should he lose, and his followers are not among the world's most stable people.

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/QAnon