They Could Not Please Me More

I was reading in bed with Ollie in my lap. Ollie is a tail-thumper anyway, but because he and Harvey had argued, his thumping turned to thrashing. I grabbed his tail and distractedly started slapping him in the face with it. When he threatened to bite me, I apologized. Prior to my interaction with Ollie, I had been pondering cat behavior for much of the day. Here are some conclusions:

Covid isolation has reinforced my observation that the more love I give to cats, the happier they are and the more love they give back. While it is true that cats are independent, it would be tragically wrong to imagine that they don't need the love of the people upon whom their lives depend.

Obedience. Cat-haters insist that cats are too stupid to learn commands, yet my cats will seldom jump onto countertops if I ask them not to, assuming that I ask it while standing three feet away and pointing a squirt bottle. They also obey me when my wishes are consistent with their wishes. For example, if I call Ollie when I'm sitting in bed reading at 10:00 p.m., I can hear him galloping from two rooms away because he anticipates sitting in my lap, but if I call him at 10:00 a.m., he won't come because he doesn't know what I want. 

How cats regard humans. Some people say that cats consider us equals while others argue that they regard us as inferiors. When I ask cats about this, they go to sleep. I have no idea what this means.

Why do cats give us dead things? Possibilities: (1) They hate us; (2) They have a twisted sense of humor; (3) Corpses are to cats what chocolates are to us; (4) They regard us as failed hunters and are trying to inspire us. Finis. Because option four is the only option that accords with cat behavior, researchers favor it, although it would suggest that our cats view us as morons. Being indoor-only, my cats have nothing to present me with aside from beetles and spiders, and they usually eat them, proving that they don't care if I starve.

Burying poop. Until several months ago, Scully buried her poop. She now climbs onto the lid of the box and scratches as if she is burying her poop. The next cat into the box sees the poops, appears disgusted, and buries it. The sheen on Scully's jet black fur, her pristinely groomed white legs and chest, her gorgeous white whiskers, and the perfect symmetry of her markings put me in mind of human females who look like goddesses but have the IQ of rocks. Then again, maybe Scully's problem is emotional. 

Mental illness. As our other cats admit, Ollie has "issues." When he's stressed, he vomits and his hair falls out. Everyday for the four and a half years since he moved in, he has nursed on Brewsky. While the rest of the family relaxes together in bed at night, Ollie stalks the darkened house yowling loudly. When we hear him, we stop what we're doing and stare down the dark hallway in fear that this will be the night he loses his mind. If Ollie were human, I might conclude that he's afflicted with existential angst, but because he's a cat, I don't know what his problem is, and the other cats don't either.

Intelligence. Due to their resourcefulness in achieving private goals, I have concluded that my cats are reasonably intelligent. Yet, the human tendency to judge our pets according to what we value can result in a skewed assessment. For example, many people regard cats as intellectually inferior to dogs simply because dogs are better at learning things that interest us. These people are oblivious to the fact that cats excel at teaching us things that interest them. For example, when I throw his ball, Sage runs to it and stares at me. After awhile, I understand that he wants me to go to the ball, pick it up, and throw it again, which I do, at which time he runs to it and stares a second time. When I am able to perform the trick flawlessly, Sage takes a nap. The next day, he has me practice some more.

"When I play with my cat, how do I know she is not playing with me rather than I with her?" Montaigne

Emotions. Another example of people judging cats by human standards is the common conclusion that cats are unemotional based upon their relatively unchanging facial expressions. However, researchers have determined that, although cats do form expressions, they lack the musculature to form a great many of them. Another mistaken anthropocentric judgment is that cats' habit of capturing and releasing the same prey proves that they are sadists (they actually do it to instruct their young and to hone their hunting skills). Still another mistake occurs when people interpret as disgust the strange expression that some cats make after washing their butts, sniffing urine, or paying attention to the fragrance of a female in heat (they are instead wafting odors past something that scientists call a vomeronasal organ). How, then, given the ease with which we make mistakes, might a person know what a cat is thinking and feeling? Through patience, humility, voluminous reading, and hundreds of hours spent observing cats' body language, vocalizations, and eye movements. 

When to observe cats. All day everyday is best, but I especially enjoy doing it when they're stretching, playing together, sleeping in acrobatic postures, bathing one another, rolling in catnip, purring in my lap, chittering at birds, cuddling with one another, chasing laser lights, and requesting cuddles. A less pleasant—but very important—time to observe a cat is during those periods when he or she is vomiting frequently (as one wit put it, Dogs bark. Cats vomit). Because their vomiting often results from stress, it is my responsibility to make their home peaceful.

Us comforting cats. Rapidly-moving men with loud voices cause my cats to make like little Houdinis and disappear. If one—or more—of them remains disappeared hours after the person has left, I drag them from their hiding places and attempt to comfort them. If I succeed, they remain in the open. If I fail, they go back into hiding. Another time that I try to comfort cats is when I take them to the vet, and they push their heads into my abdomen. Although my ability to comfort a stressed-out cat is limited, I have the same problem with dogs and humans.

Cats comforting us. Peggy spent part of yesterday in bed with a stomach ache. When I went to check on her, all five cats were lined up against her sides. Were those cats acting as compassionate beings who were doing their utmost to comfort a loved one, or were they selfish jerks who found Peggy's bed soft and the heat from her body restful? People who wouldn't dream of interpreting every human act as selfish make such a claim about cats. 

There was a famous 1995 incident in which a homeless calico—whom the firemen later named Scarlett—was severely burned when she repeatedly dodged rescuers in order to save her kittens from a burning warehouse in Brooklyn (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scarlett_(cat). While many people praised Scarlett's courage, others dismissed her behavior as the product of mindless instinct. What, then, of human mothers who risk their lives for their children, such as the woman who recently tackled a man whom she caught looking through her daughter's bedroom window?

How can so timid a species be capable of love, and how can I love it? Despite being superb athletes, cats' small size and thin bones make them highly susceptible to injury, and so it is that facing avoidable threats is not within their value system (the exception being mother cats who act in defense of their kittens). This causes some humans to hold cats in contempt. To bring this part of the discussion closer to home...

Three-year-old Sage is my smallest and most timid cat. If I bend over to pet him while he's sitting on the floor, his big eyes get even bigger; he meows fearfully; and he runs away. Sometimes, he doesn't stop until he's under a chair. Other times, he only runs a few feet before rolling onto his back so I can pet him. I interpret his behavior as a struggle between trust and fear. While I know I'm making progress with Sage, I also know that I can never allow myself a moment's un-mindfulness—such as when I slapped Ollie in the face with his tail. 

Each morning, Sage asks Peggy to pick him up so he can sit on her shoulder, something he has never done with me. Sage also likes to sit in Peggy's lap, which is also something that he has never done with me. Researchers have found that it's simply easier for women to win the trust of cats, dogs, and even wolves. During the many decades that I walked dogs, I often met women whose adopted shelter dogs would either growl at me or hide behind the woman's legs. In almost every instance, these women had concluded that their shelter dog had been abused by a man. When I asked how they knew this, they would make the circular argument that their dogs were afraid of men.  

Why do I believe that intimacy with my cats continues to grow with every passing year? I believe it because of how pleased they are when I join them for a cuddle, and because of the liberties they allow. I can rough their fur, kiss their noses, squeeze them firmly, sweep them off the floor, flip them onto their backs, and rub their bellies, and I can even do these things with Sage most of the time. If you adopt an emotionally healthy dog, that dog will quickly reach a plateau of intimacy. By contrast, I still see signs of growing intimacy in all of my cats except for ten year old Brewsky, whose boldness approaches that of a dog. But how can I ever really know who my cats are within their deepest selves? I cannot. I can allow myself to interpret their behavior as love.

Isn't it unnatural to force a cat to live indoors? Here's what a natural lifestyle would entail: breeding freely; fighting competitors; killing their own food; suffering from climatic extremes, having their blood sucked by fleas, ticks, and mosquitos; being deprived of medical care; and starving when they become too old, sick, or wounded to hunt. Here's what a natural lifestyle would not entail: cuddling with humans, sleeping on soft pillows, eating Meow Mix, killing for fun, and staying indoors in inclement weather. No loving person would allow his or her cat to live naturally, and I resent being referred to as my cats' jailer. The person in my life who has given me the most grief about this has had two cats since I met him. One left home one morning after breakfast and was never seen again. The other came home with a broken leg, and he had her euthanized. Early death is often the fate of cats who are allowed to come and go.

But is it possible for indoor cats to be happy? My cats are well-loved; well-fed; well-protected; never alone; show no interest in going outdoors; and own a bucketful of toys, a commodious window shelf, multiple cat trees and lots of scratching posts. Their lives are as predictable as I can make them, and cats adore predictability. Although they're less adaptable than cats that face outdoor challenges, they're also healthier and can expect to live twice as long. They're also peaceful and content, properties that are surely more important than happiness.

But are they happy? Perhaps, the question can be more easily approached by asking whether they are satisfied, the reason being that happiness is a fluctuating mood boundaried by extremes. It is also a mood that I feel unqualified to judge. Yet, I have observed my cats closely their whole lives long, and I strongly believe that they're  satisfied. Just as the man I mentioned pitied my cats for staying indoors, I pity his cats because he somehow imagines that it's kindly to allow them to kill countless birds and mammals and to have their young lives end violently. The only good that comes from letting cats outdoors is that it allows their humans to evade the responsibility of providing for their physical and emotional welfare indoors. 

Should cats be worshiped? If, as Keats wrote, beauty is truth and truth beauty, then the spirit that embodies catdom deserves worship. People generally believe that the ancient Egyptians worshiped cats, but what they actually worshiped was the spirit embodied by cats, a spirit that found its ultimate expression in Bastet, a goddess who made cats her earthly representation. I own but one religious symbol, and that symbol is Bastet. Because Jehovah was a "jealous God," his chosen people prophesied the destruction of her holy city, Bubastis: 

"The young men of Heliopolis and Bubastis will die in battle, and the women will be taken away as slaves." Ezekiel 30:17

These events never occurred, although murderous persecution by Christians finally put an end to Bastet worship. Then came the Dark Ages out of which little good came, among it a 9th century poem by an Irish monk. Because this poem was written on the back of a Bible text, a thousand years passed before its discovery in the recesses of a monastic library. Its anonymous author named the poem after his cat, Pangur Bán (which means A Fuller White), and its sentiments echo my own. A sampling...

Tis a merry sight to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

Gen. Robert Edward Lee: Soldier, Citizen, and Christian Patriot

My father's parents, into whose Mississippi home I was born, owned but three books: a King James Bible, a homesteading encyclopedia, and a book entitled Gen. Robert Edward Lee: Soldier, Citizen, and Christian Patriot. 

During the Civil Rights era, the Confederate Battle Flag became common on Mississippi's car antennas (I had one). Even before the ubiquity of rebel flags, Confederate statues and howitzers graced courthouse lawns; and parks, buildings and military bases had been named after Confederate generals. Those who betrayed their nation (among them my ancestors) were honored in lavish ceremonies. Many towns held grandiose celebrations called pilgrimages, which featured belles in hoop skirts and tours of antebellum mansions.

The South called the Civil War: "The War of Northern Aggression," and I was taught that although the North triumphed on the battlefield--due to having far more men and guns--the South had achieved a victory of ethics, patriotism, Christian values, and military brilliance. "And, no..." my teachers insisted, "the war wasn't about slavery. The war was about state's rights (i.e. the right to enslave), fidelity to the Constitution, and obedience to God. According to this view, America's liberals had become so hostile to our nation's values that its conservatives were forced to take up arms. 

It all sounds so modern. Here are the justifications that the insurrectionists gave for trashing their nation's capitol:

(1) This is the people's house, and we're the people, so we can do with it as we please.

(2) This is our country, and we're taking it back.

 

Who is "we"? They're those who voted for Trump and who support Boogaloo, Patriot Prayer, KKK, Proud Boys, Oath Keepers and Young Republicans. They are white, evangelical, rural, and primarily reside in the South and Midwest. They hate Jews, blacks, Asians, Hispanics, Muslims, liberals, atheists, Roman Catholics, welfare recipients, and RINOs (Republican In Name Only used to mean Republicans who, on some issues, held Democratic values, but it now refers to any Republican who isn't totally in line with Trump). Here is what I interpret as their message to America:

Despite vowing to oppose the inauguration, we avoided going, but don't count us out because we've set our sights on such softer targets as celebrities, Congressmen, city council members, bridges, power stations, and commuter trains. Harassing people on the Internet is a great way to fill idle hours, but remember that an explosive-filled rental truck worked extremely well in Oklahoma City; shooting Mexicans at Walmart won us favorable publicity in El Paso; and the patriots who blew away Jews in Pittsburgh and niggers in Charleston also did us proud. We're only keeping a low profile at the moment because we're a little discouraged over being unable to stop Sleepy Joe's inauguration. Then came the worse blow of all when, instead of pardoning capitol-raiding patriots, Trump's final pardons were of mangy niggers. While it's true that those niggers supported him, for us to get nothing for attempting to overthrow the government on his behalf hurt. Three hours into the attack, he told us, "We love you. You're very special," but since then, he has done nothing but criticize us. It's like he's trying to win votes in 2024 by treating us like garbage. Finis.

The conservatives serve God, and liberals serve Satan argument that is in vogue now and during the Civil War, was also popular during the Civil Rights Movement of the '50s and '60s. I heard it preached from pulpits. I encountered it on page 1A editorials in the "Jackson Daily News." I read it in pamphlets that the KKK left in my family's driveway, and I saw it on Klan billboards. So it is that now--as during every year of the 160 years since Confederate cannon fired upon Fort Sumter, those who fight to destroy America regard themselves as its defenders, and they refer to those who fight for it as traitors.

The one obvious difference between the "patriots" of 1861 and the ones of 2021 is that today's "patriots" are not across-the-board racists, some groups even going so far as to completely disavow racism. My own belief about this is that they'll say or do any damn thing to win public sympathy, but that if they ever succeed, blacks will be thrown under the train because, in their view, no real patriot would want his daughter to marry a nigger.

I stopped counting when I reached ten uncles and grandfathers who fought for the Confederacy. The only good thing I can say about my ancestors of the era was that a single Alabama aunt openly professed her loyalty to the Union and unsuccessfully did her utmost to discourage her brothers from joining the Confederate army (one was killed but the other--a fundamentalist preacher who became my great grandfather--made it out alive). A neighbor later testified that only her gender saved Aunt Sarah Jane from physical harm. Clearly, the traitors who raided the capitol with the goal of murdering Nancy Pelosi, Ilhan Omar, and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, felt no such restraint.

Prior to Trump, Peggy had no interest in politics, and because we rarely watch commercial television (aside from the news and Jeopardy), neither of us knew much about Trump. When he started appearing on the news, it was a case of disgust at first sight that has inspired her to learn more about politics than I know. Yesterday, she got up early to watch the inauguration, and shed happy tears throughout, both in honor of Biden and in celebration of the fact that the Trumpian nightmare is finally over.

"We're taking back our country," the capitol raiding Trumpians proclaimed, and as I watched the inauguration two weeks to the day later, I smilingly thought, "Not today, assholes."

Last Week and Next

 

 

 For the first time ever, the certainly of violence has led to the public being warned to stay away from the presidential inauguration on January 20. Also, the FBI is warning states to prepare for armed invasions of their capitols. One such an invasion succeeded in Michigan last April, while another failed in Oregon in December.*

 

The coming of last week's D.C. attack was so well-advertised that the ADL (Anti-Defamation League) called it the best predicted terrorist attack in American history, yet the capitol police--despite having all the intelligence resources of the federal government at its disposal--professed ignorance. Once the assault started, some capitol cops even sided with the Trumpians, the most notorious of them putting on a MAGA cap and directing the terrorists while a fellow officer was murdered.

During the DC occupation, many Republican legislators smirkingly refused to wear the required Covid masks as they hid packed-together (the count of those who contracted Covid as the probable result is in progress). When the invasion was finally over, 147 Republican Congressmen calmly and cheerfully continued their attempt to overturn Biden's victory by un-Constitutionally giving the presidency to Trump. Clearly, even if they didn't know that the assault was coming, they would have known that all those zip-ties weren't intended for them. For Pence, the outcome might have been less agreeable because Trump had tweeted during the occupation that Pence had refused to hand him the election. "Hang Pence!" cried the invaders, and at least one of them had thought to bring a rope.

 

If there's a bright side to recent events, it is that both the House and Senate are now Democratically controlled, and a Democrat is about to assume the presidency. In other good news, Trump's role in the attempted insurrection has led to numerous resignations by high ranking appointees.** In fact, Trump has come to be so detested that many Republicans now view his campaign endorsements as a liability in hotly contested races (such as the two Georgia run-offs that Republicans recently lost despite a personal appearance by Trump). Finally, it has become impossible for fence-straddlers to argue that Trump only pretends to be violent in order to reach his hardcore base. How they ever pulled it off in the first place is a mystery given the scores, if not hundreds, of times that he encouraged, demanded, or praised violence.*

 * https://www.thedailybeast.com/heavily-armed-far-right-mob-descends-on-oregon-capitol

**  https://www.wsj.com/articles/heres-who-resigned-from-trumps-administration-after-riot-at-the-capitol-11610061311

*** https://www.vox.com/21506029/trump-violence-tweets-racist-hate-speech

Christmas Letter Containing Peggy’s Health Worries and How We’re Faring In Isolation

 

Peggy and I celebrated our 49th anniversary on December 19th (she’s 69, and I’m 71), yet this is our first ever Christmas letter.

Our family now includes five indoor-only cats that range in age from 18-months to ten years. All are in good health, and all enjoy playing together, sleeping together, and bathing one another. We own hundreds of cat-related books along with cat art, and, prior to Covid, we volunteered at a cat adoption center. Peggy had originally proclaimed her intention of only having one cat, yet chose all but one of the next four. Saying no to another cat is like saying no to another potato chip.

We live in a 1955 era fixer-upper house that we bought in 1990 and spent years renovating. Many of the neighborhood’s original residents were alive when we moved in, but all have since died, and we are now the oldest people in our area.

Since Covid, we never go to stores or visit with friends. I’m not finding isolation difficult because Peggy and the cats provide sufficient companionship. On those occasions when I miss shopping or having dinner with friends, I remind myself that Covid would probably kill me, and would most certainly kill Peggy who has the occasional bout of asthma and a calcification in her right lung. Then too, our deaths would render our cats homeless. Such thoughts could keep me isolated forever.

Peggy is mostly doing well with isolation, but she has her sad moments when she reflects upon the things that she has had to give up. For instance, she had two weekly pinochle groups and two or more monthly meetings and workshops related to clothing buttons—which she started collecting in 1988. Many of these events are now being conducted on Zoom, and while some things have been lost, there have been gains. For example, the Portland Button Club recently hosted a speaker from France, and just last week, Peggy was among the 87 attendees at a meeting of the Idaho Button Society. She is now organizing her own Internet events, plus she uses the Internet in conjunction with her computer’s art program to design button displays.

For me, the worst part of Covid is that I’ve been postponing important medical and dental procedures. For example, I had two dental implants installed in my upper front teeth last Spring, but because they don’t extend above the gum-line, they are worthless until I get crowns, but by the time I had waited six months to become eligible for crowns, Covid was so widespread that I was unwilling to get them. In the meantime, eating is difficult and I often bite my lip with my remaining teeth. I’ve also developed a hernia, but I don’t plan to see a doctor until I’ve had a Covid vaccine or the pain is too great to bear. (After writing this on the 20th, I had a tooth break-off at the gumline on the 21st, but the dentist said I could postpone treatment—he suggested yet another implant—because the calcified pulp is keeping bacteria out.)

Peggy is suffering from two health problems for which treatment can’t be delayed. One is a squamous cell carcinoma on her nose (a former mountain climber, she was often exposed to high altitude sunshine), which she will have removed on January 5, in what could be a five hour surgery (the surgery is lengthy because samples of excised tissue will be tested throughout). Another problem is that, after years of unsuccessfully trying to lose two pounds, she recently dropped eight pounds, a loss that is continuing and is accompanied by pain and vomiting. In early November, her internist ordered blood tests and a CAT scan, but when they didn’t reveal anything, he prescribed an “upper GI with follow-through.” When she discovered that the contrast medium contained a migraine-causing ingredient, he substituted a “gastric emptying study.” It is to be done on December 29, and, like her surgery, it could take as long as five hours.

As the winter-long Oregon drizzle continues, Peggy and I are watching documentaries on PBS along with classic movies and TV shows from the fifties and sixties. We are also playing six or more daily games of backgammon, and I continue to be an active blogger, having no face-to-face friends who I love more than two British bloggers, Philip and Michelle, both of whom, I am extremely sad to report, are in poor health. Philip honors me with the occasional phone call, and while Michelle had suggested visiting online, she later developed a voice problem that made it impractical. I, too, am having voice problems, in my case “quivering vocal cords” for which I had just started seeing a speech therapist when Covid hit (I haven’t been back). Fortunately, I’m able to talk well enough after I’ve been up for awhile, although I fancy that I sound a bit like Katherine Hepburn.

Reading also continues to be a vital part of my life, most of my books being 100-plus year old novels by largely forgotten authors.  The only author for whom I’ve sought first editions is American poet, novelist, and short story writer, Margaret Deland (1857-1945) who went from fame to obscurity during her lifetime. I also own several of her letters and photos, two biographies, and her two-volume autobiography.

Peggy, too, enjoys reading, but also spends time on her button hobby, working Sudokus, and listening to music. While I get little exercise anymore, she alternates between taking long walks one day and working out with weights the next. Marrying such an admirable woman was the best thing I ever did, yet I don’t know if we would have survived had our relationship not been helped by the fact that we are so much alike. For example, our attitudes towards money, politics, vegetarianism, religion, entertainment, clothing styles, personal safety, celebrating holidays, having five cats, house and yard decoration and maintenance, and, of late, staying isolated.

Happy Holidays,

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

Disaster-Prone Oregon: As if 100 Nights of Rioting Weren’t Bad Enough

Current humidity is 10%, and the forecast is for 100-degree heat and “historically high winds.”* Today dawned red; the red turned to gray; and ash is falling like snowflakes. Even indoor air is smoky, nauseating, and congesting, and twilight lingers all day. Outside air has gone from “unhealthy” to “very unhealthy” to “hazardous.” Our shrubs, patio, and walkways lie beneath a thick layer of ash. Many rural areas have lost power, and five towns have burned to the ground.
 
When Peggy and I moved to Oregon in 1986, mountain real estate was in high demand, but now that global warming has melted glaciers and ever-worsening fires have turned rural idylls into death traps (Trump claims that the fire problem is caused by Democrats), the cautious have grown even more cautious. I live in the heart of a metro area of 300,000, so if I die in a natural disaster, it is unlikely to be a forest fire but rather the +9 Great Cascadia Subduction Zone earthquake. These quakes hit an average of every 246-years, the last one occurring 320-years ago at 9:00 p.m. on January 26, 1700 (the time and date have been determined from Japanese records of when the resultant tsunami hit Japan). Had the threat posed by the Cascadia Subduction Zone been known when Peggy and I moved to Oregon in 1986, we would have gone elsewhere.

There have been numerous small quakes during our time here (one of which caused extensive damage to the state capitol), but they were along local faults while the Cascadia fault extends from California, through Oregon, through Washington, and through British Columbia before finally ending in Alaska. It is expected that Coastal communities will be completely flattened by the quake before being washed out to sea seven minutes later. Because the Coast is squeezed between mountains and ocean, few roads run east so there will be little chance of escape. Being sixty miles inland and 200-400 feet above sea level, the Willamette Valley won’t be swept out to sea, but setting atop hundreds of feet of Ice Age rubble will still mean major disaster, but back to fire-related news....

Peggy has a friend named Sandy who lives twenty miles from town and next door to the Willamette National Forest. A woman of more than average means, Sandy has spent forty-five years of her life and an enormous amount of money in building a world-class clothing button collection. The closer the fires get, the more Sandy worries, but because her husband pooh-poohs her worry, no steps are being taken to move their belongings to safety. Yesterday, the fire department toured Sandy’s property in preparation for using it as a staging area.

Throughout the day, TV programs are being interrupted by fire-related news, and evacuation orders are constantly scrolling across the bottom of the screen. The smoke is so thick that flame retardant can’t be dropped from planes or helicopters, and five towns have thus far burned to the ground. All the firefighters in the world couldn’t slow a fire that is moving too fast to approach. Peggy heard on the news that the nearest fire jumped thirteen miles in one night, but I can’t imagine that it’s true.

Volcanoes. Oregon has four volcanoes that the USGS characterize as “very high risk.” The one nearest Eugene is the 10,358-foot South Sister, which, despite being seventy miles away, can be seen from town. The South Sister has a bulge that has grown nine inches since its discovery in 1997. Because the prevailing winds blow away from Eugene, the worst likely danger would come from watershed destruction, Eugene’s water coming from the McKenzie River, which originates near the South Sister. (Because the McKenzie flows through the worst of the fires, Eugene's water tastes bad).

Landslides. These are only a problem in the wet season and usually along the Coast, where they sometimes close the only north-south highway (US 101, aka El Camino Real) for months, it being too dangerous to move a landslide that won’t stop sliding. Obviously, people occasionally die, and the only way out is sometimes by helicopter.

Friday Afternoon Fire Update. Another filthy day of coughing, nausea and daylong twilight, but, unless The Big One hits, we probably won’t end the day homeless in a school parking lot. By noon on Monday, the winds are expected to shift.

Friday Night Fire Update: 40% of Oregonians have been told to prepare for evacuation, and another 10% have already evacuated.

* Since I started writing this three days ago, the winds have dissipated, and the daytime highs have dropped by 25-degrees (the area being prone to temperature fluctuations), but the fires just keep getting bigger and more numerous. In California, things are even worse, but things are too bad here for me to worry much about how things are down there.

** Friday Night Fire Update: 40% of Oregonians have been told to prepare for evacuation, and another 10% have already evacuated. s a link to local fire news and photos: https://www.registerguard.com/story/news/2020/09/10/holiday-farm-fire-frequently-asked-questions/5767238002/

Is This How You View Donald Trump? An Attempt to Understand.

I want to understand the difference between people who love Donald Trump and people like myself who despise him, it being obvious that our differences go beyond policy. When I came upon a nine-point list of traits (at bottom of post) that characterize people who are malevolent,* I discovered that every item on the list strongly represents my understanding of the character of Donald Trump. Because I view these traits in him as unavoidably obvious, I am unable to maintain a high regard for those who disagree. 

My alienation from such people saddens me, and I have observed that they use some of the same insulting words to describe me that I use to describe them, words like stupid, deluded, hateful, and unpatriotic. They say that I want to abolish the police, and that I love rioters and looters, although I strongly support the police, and would gladly see rioters and looters shot dead in the street if it were possible to separate them from other demonstrators. I say these things in the hope of making it clear to Trumpians that our disagreement isn't total, and that in this, at least, we can find some comfort.

We are all pained by our contempt for one another, but no one knows how to move beyond it. Or at least I don't. Millions have stopped talking completely, while millions more have agreed to stop talking about Trump. Neither approach works for me, yet my attempts at understanding and being understood have been so anger-laden and accusatory that they have made matters worse. So I ask you, not rhetorically, but because I want to know: three and a half years into Trump's presidency, how do you view his character? 

If you hate him as I do, then I will obviously understand, but for those few readers who regard him as honest, just, compassionate, and patriotic, to what do you attribute the fact that I hold the opposite view, and would you like for us to bridge the divide? While I have little belief that the angry torrent that separates us can be bridged, I am nonetheless making what I intend as a constructive effort. If my approach doesn't work for you, perhaps you have an idea that would. It is my blog, so while it makes sense that most of the time and work would be mine, the fact is that I need help. It is also true that no matter where you live or how you feel about Trump, everyone the wide world over has been wounded by the rage, chaos, and alienation that characterize his presidency. Perhaps you will say that these things aren't his fault, but surely you won't deny that they exist, or that responsibility for healing the wounds falls completely on the other side.

The following is the list of what I see in Trump. Even if you think I'm imagining these things in him, my hope is that if you understand the self-talk that underlies my hatred, you will find my hatred comprehensible. Whether this will represent progress, I don't know, but it's the only idea I have.

1. Egoism. The excessive concern with one's own pleasure or advantage at the expense of community well-being.
2. Machiavellianism. Manipulativeness, callous affect and strategic-calculating orientation.
3. Moral Disengagement. A generalized cognitive orientation to the world that differentiates individuals' thinking in a way that powerfully affects unethical behavior.
4. Narcissism. An all-consuming motive for ego reinforcement.
5. Psychological Entitlement. A stable and pervasive sense that one deserves more and is entitled to more than others.
6. Psychopathy. Deficits in affect, callousness, self-control and impulsivity.
7. Sadism. Intentionally inflicting physical, sexual or psychological pain or suffering on others in order to assert power and dominance or for pleasure and enjoyment.
8. Self-Interest. The pursuit of gains in socially valued domains, including material goods, social status, recognition, academic or occupational achievement and happiness.
9. Spitefulness. A preference that would harm another but that would also entail harm to oneself. This harm could be social, financial, physical or an inconvenience.

*https://getpocket.com/explore/item/the-dark-core-of-personality?utm_source=pocket-newtab

"It is What It is." Donald John Trump

Of late, Trump has suggested that his likeness be put alongside those of four other presidents on Mt. Rushmore, a mountain in South Dakota. He has appointed a postmaster general who, despite objections by Congress, state governments, and postal unions, is seeking to impede delivery of the mail-in ballots favored by Democrats. He has repeatedly claimed that voter fraud alone can prevent him from winning re-election, leading to speculation that he’s preparing for a coup. He has threatened that, if he loses reelection, America won’t have a president “for years” due to legal challenges.

He has said that he wants three more terms as president (this would require a change in American law). He is accusing his own government of impeding development of a Covid vaccine in order to prevent his re-election. He is accusing his Democratic challenger of senility and of being “a tool of the radical left.” He has warned that if Biden becomes president, crime will run rampant and leftists and anarchists will riot in every city and town in America (much of which are already happening under Trump). His sister accused him of “cruelty”; called him a “liar and a cheat”; said he has “no principles”; and confirmed claims that the self-proclaimed “very stable genius” got into college by paying someone to take his entrance exams. 

A Trump insider was charged with multiple felonies, raising the number of Trumpian aides, donors and advisers, who have been indicted or imprisoned to twenty. The sixteen-year-old Trump-hating daughter of “counselor to the president” Kellyanne Conway petitioned the court for emancipation, saying that her mother has neglected her and her siblings in favor of money and fame. Ms Conway’s husband has also been vocal in opposing the president, who in response called him “a loser of a husband.” 

After three-and-a-half years of Trump, nothing that I have said should come as a surprise to most Americans, but what never ceases to astound me is that Trump’s approval rating among members of his own party has held steady in the mid nineties. I don’t know what to conclude from this other than that Republicans are infinitely more stupid and unethical than I would have considered possible even three years ago when I still entertained the hope that, as Trump’s depravity became increasingly blatant, his supporters would slowly abandon him. It would now appear that, unless he is caught on tape buggering a poodle alongside Putin and Kim Jong-Un (and I’m not confident that even this would do it), I can’t imagine what would give pause to people who prefer the shit of a golden-headed buffoon to the blood of a Jewish Savior. 

Why would I make such an outrageous statement? Because Trump’s “values”—aka his pandering to his followers’ ignorance and bigotry—clearly do matter to his disciples, while those of Jesus clearly do not, a fact that puts me in mind of Trump’s 2016 boast that his supporters wouldn’t care if he murdered a man in broad daylight on Manhattan’s 5th Avenue. I had imagined that such a boast might lose him the election, but I now see that he was right...

Then again, his supporters might care deeply if Trump were to claim that the man was a Democrat whose death was a Christmas present to the nation in which case, they would jump to their feet and cheer until they could cheer no more.

I will now leave you with what Trump said about the thousands upon thousands of people who have died of Covid due to his indifference to the welfare of anyone but himself:

“It is what it is.”

A week or so later, Michelle Obama repeated Trump’s words in the context of saying that Trump is what he is because he lacks the ability to rise to any occasion. While his followers deserve him, the rest of the nation and world most certainly do not deserve the curse that has been visited upon them.

Which is Better, a Dog or a Cat?

“By and large, people who enjoy teaching animals to roll over will find themselves happier with a dog.”

—From Secrets of the Cat by Barbara Holland

Similarities Between Cats and Dogs

Alerts. Both will warn us of danger. In the case of cats, this is more apt to mean fires, gas leaks, and children in distress, but I knew a woman whose cat alerted her to the presence of a burglar while the woman’s dog hid under the couch.

Forgiveness. Both are quick to forgive their humans for bumping into them or stepping on their tails.

Friendship. Both have the capacity to love humans, members of their own species, and members of other species.

Homing. Both dogs and cats have completed solitary journeys. For example, Peggy’s mother gave away a Scotty that returned home from across town, and a northwest Georgia cousin gave me a cat that returned to Georgia from southwest Mississippi, a direct-line distance of 400 miles (the first thing he did upon arriving was to run to where his food bowl had been).

Hunting. Both hunt with intelligence, patience, and stealth.

Insight. When I fell headlong while jogging across a parking lot one night, my two dogs occupied themselves with smelling the asphalt while I struggled to catch my breath. Generally speaking, cats are equally oblivious to my distress.

Intelligence. Researchers say that the two species are about equal. It seems to me that individuals within a species differ more than the species themselves do.

Loyalty. Both are loyal until death.

Luxury. Both enjoy good food, soft beds, massages, and naps before a heater or in the sunshine.

Persistence. A dog will stay on task until his human forces him from it. A cat will stalk her prey until she captures it or success becomes impossible.

Protectiveness. By virtue of their larger size, dogs are better able to fight for us, but cats have also risked life and limb in our defense.*

Resourcefulness. Herding dogs and curious cats are testaments to ingenuity.

Swimming. Some dog breeds love to swim while others hate it. The same is true of cats, one avid swimmer being the Turkish Van.

Tolerance. Dogs and cats are more accepting of our failures, preferences, and eccentricities, than are our human friends. 

Differences Between Dogs and Cats

Adaptability. Dogs enjoy adventuring with their humans. Cats are homebodies who want everyday to be the same.

Affection for their kind. Dogs prefer the company of humans to that of other dogs. My cats, at least, prefer the company of one another, perhaps because sleeping is their favorite activity, and they feel safe and warm with their bodies touching.

Claws. Cats have claws that climb, grasp, blind, and eviscerate. Dogs have toenails that serve as cleats on soft ground but are useless on pavement. 

Cleanliness. Dogs are indifferent to squalor, and go to their baths as to a guillotine. Cats will pee and poop on the floor if their litter box is filthy and, next to sleeping, bathing is what they do most.

Communication. Most dogs are outspoken. Except when their meal is delayed, most cats are subtle.

Dignity. Many cat lovers proclaim dignity as a major feline virtue, but I believe that dignity varies more between individual dogs and cats than between the two species. It also seems to me that both species are more dignified than is our own.

Forgiveness. A dog will lick the hand that strikes him. A cat will run from it.

Genetic differences. All human-created dog breeds have genetic weaknesses, some of which lead to lives that are short and miserable. Cats have largely escaped this fate, although scientific advances are making abuses possible.

Grace and agility. Assuming youth and vigor, the grace and agility of the world’s clumsiest cat probably exceeds that of the most agile and graceful dog.

High places. Dogs fear heights. Cats so love them that vets have coined the term high rise syndrome to describe the fate of cats who become overly confident in their climbing prowess.**

Hunting. Packs of dogs ambush their prey and run it to ground. Solitary cats blindside unsuspecting prey with speed and agility. 

Intelligence. Dogs show intelligence by doing the bidding of humans. Cats show intelligence by thwarting humans in favor of private goals.

Injury. Cats have thin bones that make them susceptible to injury, yet they are far more likely than dogs to survive falls, and they actually survive long falls better than short ones.***

Killing. Dogs wound and kill with their teeth. Cats wound with teeth and claws before killing with their teeth. Dogs kill swiftly. Cats bat their prey about in order to hone their hunting skills.

Obedience. A dog will move heaven and earth to please his human. A cat will move heaven and earth to please herself. Dogs come running when called. Cats come walking when their treat jar is rattled.

Passing time. My indoor cats sleep, bathe, cuddle, observe, play, demand food, and eat, pretty much in that order. What dogs do depends upon upon what they have access to, so the following is in no particular order: sleep, walk, play, bark, cuddle, entreat, smell things, and leave urine marks.

Philosophy. Dogs are idealists who persist in thinking well of humanity despite evidence to the contrary. Cats are pragmatists who see us as we are. Dogs have dreams. Cats have expectations.

Playfulness. Adult dogs require few toys—a tennis ball and a chew/cuddle toy will usually suffice—and they enjoy playing the same games they played as puppies, sometimes for hours a day. Adult cats require a succession of new toys, which they abandon within minutes of receiving them. Cat lovers agree that cats enjoy the box that their $50 toy came in more than they enjoy the toy itself. Among their favorites are laser lights; toys that can be lobbed across a room so the cat can run to it and wait for his human to come and retrieve it; and toys that can be tied to a stick and swung over the cat’s head.

Politics. Dogs are monarchists who view their adult humans as their superiors. Cats are libertarians who, at best, regard their adult humans as their equals.

Purring. There is no canine equivalent to a cat’s purr. Cats purr when they’re happy, sick, frightened, or in pain. Kittens purr differently than adults; some cats purr in one note and some cats purr in more than one note; and all cats purr both on the inhale and the exhale.

Remorse. A scolded dog wants to dig a grave and pull the dirt in after her. A scolded cat interprets being scolded as an unwarranted annoyance.

Reserve. If reserve is important, get a cat, but preferably not a Siamese.

Sharing food. A dog that approaches another dog that is eating commits a serious faux pas. Most cats will share their food with loved ones.

Society. Dogs are a social species. Cats are solitary. Dogs are extroverts. Cats are introverts. Dogs are like humans. Cats are like cats.

Speed and Stamina. Dogs run fast and have excellent aerobic stamina. Cats run slowly and are soon winded. 

Stepping over. When a person steps over a resting dog, the dog scrambles to her feet in abject terror. When a person steps over a resting cat, the cat just lies there.

Strength. Cats use their legs to bat their prey around, knock it into the air, and pin it for the kill. The legs of dogs are only good for running.

Togetherness. A dog says to his human, “You are my god, and all I ask of life is to be with you every moment of everyday.” A cat says to her human, “You are my equal, and I insist that you respect my need for alone time.”

Tricks. Dogs throw their entire beings into learning whatever tricks their humans are pleased to teach them. The only trick at which my cats excel is being on time for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. In fact, they prefer that I serve every meal an hour early.

What a dog wants his human to know: “For as long as I live, I will devote every ounce of my being to your happiness. Though it come to pass that the world despise you, I will remain steadfast. If you treat me well, my life will be joyful. If you treat me badly, my life will be miserable, but I will serve you anyway.”

What a cat wants her human to know: “I do my thing and you do your thing.
 I am not in this world to live up to your expectations,
 and you are not in this world to live up to mine. You are you, and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, it's beautiful.
 If not, it can't be helped.”—Fritz Perls

So, Which Is Better?

Despite having made this question the subject of a lengthy post, I contend that the question is no more sensical than asking whether a hammer is better than a screwdriver. What does make sense is to ask oneself the following questions before acquiring any pet:

(1) What jobs do I expect my pet to perform?

(2) What characteristics do I want my pet to have?

(3) Will I have the willingness and the ability to provide for the longterm physical and emotional needs of my pet?

Dogs are versatile and adaptable animals that can perform scores, perhaps hundreds, of specialized services at which no cat can compete, so a dog is the only option for people who require those services. A dog is also the better choice for people whom, for reasons of personality, prefer dogs to cats. However, one must remember that a dog requires considerably more maintenance than a cat.

Cats excel at killing small rodents, so if a person needs a mousekiller, a cat is the only viable option. Likewise, if a person simply wants a companion that is: small, quiet, beautiful, affectionate, self-cleaning, low-maintenance, mysterious, long-lived, non-smelly, pleasing to the touch, comes housebroken, and is capable of warning of certain types of danger, then that person should acquire a cat.

*https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dw9AwaJaVGU
** https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High-rise_syndrome
***http://www.todayifoundout.com/index.php/2010/11/domestic-cats-can-fall-from-any-height-with-a-remarkable-survival-rate/

Hell Night

Sage (on left) and Harvey

Peggy and I put our five cats in the laundry room at night so we can sleep. Yesterday morning, they all burst forth in enormous distress, but Scully was in the worst shape, jumping onto her window shelf and yowling nonstop: "Last night was horrible, horrible! No words can describe what I've been through! I can't bear my terror for another moment! For chrissake, DO SOMETHING!!!" 

Aghast, I approached her with an empty show of confidence, empty because she was so overwrought that I feared being bitten. She instead leaned into my body in trembling silence: "The nightmare is over," she whispered, "I know you will protect me."

Within minutes, Scully and three of the boys were ready for breakfast. Only Harvey remained distraught. Instead of lying splayed-out in the middle of whatever room we were in, he spent his day behind the clothes washer. It was the first time he had shown fear.

Harvey was but four months of age when he came to share our home last November. From day one, the long-haired gray kitten with piercing green eyes and a lion's ruff, dominated our household. He playfully ambushed our 15-pound patriarch, Brewsky, and became best buds with Sage, our timid, big-eyed tabby. He treated Scully like the lady she is, but his attempts to play with the grump of the family, Ollie, were met with yowls, hisses, and swats. Harvey's response was to pounce on Ollie in a manner that said, "How dare you flatter yourself that you scare me!" whereupon Ollie would run from the kitten half his size. 

When Harvey would lie on his back in the middle of the kitchen floor, I would stop cooking and rub his belly (Peggy complained that I was not only abandoning my work, I was widening the roadblock). After a few strokes, he would grasp my hand in his mouth and hold it there, making it necessary for me to rub him with my other hand. And so it went with one hand in the mouth of a zoned-out cat, and the other hand caressing his pillowy belly, all while assuring Peggy that petting Harvey was way more important than cooking. I meant it too. Building trust with one's cat depends entirely upon the amenability of said cat, and this is especially true in the case of belly rubs, which represent the ultimate in feline vulnerability. Peggy took a less enlightened view, "He's just using you," she would argue, and I would respond, "You can write on my tombstone:

Here Lies Harvey's Love Slut

He Died Smiling

R.I.P.

I think I know what frightened the cats. Our laundry room opens to the outside, and in warm weather, we leave the wooden door open so the cats can watch the night pass through the steel-mess security door. My guess is that something big, smelly, and scary came to that door from the nearby creek. Thankfully, Harvey got over his fear by the next night, but during the hours that we weren't having to step around him, our hearts ached.

Stupider and Stupider

 

I believe that George Floyd was murdered, which means that I was onboard with the protestors. Then came huge demonstrations in which policemen were assaulted, Molotov cocktails were thrown, businesses were looted or burned, and social distancing was ignored; and I began to wonder if the demonstrators reserve arson, looting, vandalism, and violence, for themselves alone, or if they would allow the same rights to everyone who feels strongly about an issue.

Next came calls for defunding or abolishing the police followed by outrage over the Atlanta killing of a black man who forcibly stole a cop's stun gun and fired it at him. After that came the toppling of statues of Spanish explorers, Confederate soldiers, Union generals, George Washington, U.S. Grant, Thomas Jefferson, the creator of America's national anthem, and unknown others. Among Eugene's statuary casualties was a University of Oregon work called Pioneer Mother and another entitled simply The Pioneer (some emotionally fragile students explained that the statues so offended them that they had been forced to walk out of their way to classes to avoid seeing them). There are three oddities about the attack on these statues: (1) Although the vandals clearly feel superior to the people who came here over the Oregon Trail, they showed no remorse for the fact that they too live on land stolen from the Indians. (2) The U of O was already considering the statues removal. (3) Pioneer Mother was meant to correct the gender inequity of previous statues, suggesting that the effort of yesterday's liberal intellectuals to create a better world are only worthy of destruction in the eyes of today's liberal demonstrators. 

The University of Oregon's Pioneer Mother statue

When I reflect upon the demonstrators' words and actions, the following seems evident: their contempt for the law; their embrace of mob rule; their belief in easy fixes; their refusal to compromise or dialogue; their unwillingness to consider that they might be in the wrong; their labeling as racist those who disagree with them; their confidence that had they lived 50-250 years ago, they would have held the same values they hold today; their failure to consider that their descendants might judge them as harshly as they judge their ancestors; their refusal to accept responsibility for taking the law into their own hands; their belief that there is only one way to be moral, and that they alone have virtue to follow it; and their blind faith in the belief that the police are criminals, the criminals are victims, and the gateway to a better world lies in firing the police and emptying the prisons. 

In my view, these people are petty, childish, shallow, vicious, vindictive, hypocritical, cowardly, intolerant, unintelligent, unimaginative, and puritanical. Rather than interpreting the overwhelming bi-racial outrage following George Floyd's death as a hopeful sign that the nation is ready for change, they instead assume that the masses are irredeemable bigots who must be forced into change through violence and intimidation on the part of such enlightened beings as themselves. As occurred during Mao Zedong's Cultural Revolution, these youth seem bent upon sweeping the countryside like locusts for the purpose of devouring the old in the certainty that whatever values that they, in their twenty-year-old wisdom, can't understand and appreciate aren't worth understanding and appreciating. If their energy holds, I can but assume that when the demonstrators run out of public statuary to destroy, they will turn their purification efforts to street signs, libraries, art museums, churches, and graveyards, and whatever else offends their readily offended imaginations. 

God help those of us who live in liberal areas that are ruled over by gutless local governments that refuse to act in the face of mob rule, and god help the entire nation for having a swaggering president whose remedy for every bad situation only ends in making it worse.