On Cats and Contradictions



Quest is literally looking down on my work right now.  He seems so cute and tiny in this picture as compared to his belly shot on the left (see "The CDC Can't Map Me"...).

I have been thinking about cats lately, even though the dog tends to occupy my imagination more fully.  Warren asked, on his Facebook page (!!!), "do pets make us better writers?" and of course the answer is yes.  Emmett is warming my chair right now.


 Leah's 18 year old cat Fez passed away last week -- Arlene and Martha shepherded him through life without Leah and then a sad but safe acquiescence to age.  His passing inspired a whole host of poems and reminiscences, not surprising since Leah's world was full of writers and cat lovers.  Here is what I wrote to Arlene:

I am just back from Baltimore -- no people home (they are out eating Japanese, something I am sure they do regularly when I am away) and after the dog has wiggled and jumped on me and made it clear that she hates when I leave and has gotten a lot of attention and food, I am finally upstairs at my computer and the old cat Zuli has been keeping my spot on the bed warm and full of fur. The two younger cats want in and out of the house, just like the dog, but Zuli is here and he waits until I am settled and as soon as the computer is out of reach, he will lie on my chest and make the anxieties go away and we will talk about Fez because he understands what it means to keep going even with diabetes and autoimmune skin problems and cataracts and he will let me know when it's enough, but not quite yet.

Our cats (and dogs) are luckier than many other animals.  We live in a world where folks are willing to spend thousands of dollars on acute medical care for their animals, but are equally willing to abandon them on the side of the road.   My dog walks have been marred by the endless parade of dead creatures on the side of the road -- it is spring in Pennsylvania and the loss of raccoons, possums, squirrels, and cats is the main harbinger.   I have to stop and check the cats, see if they have collars, move them out of traffic, and ask Zack to bury the ones that have been on the side of the road near the walking path for too long.  I have a deep anger at not only the hit-and-run drivers, but the others who can drive on by, honk at me for stopping.

It reminds me of the disparities in the way we view people, too, lives that matter and lives that don't.  In answering a question about violence to transgender folks, one of my students wrote, "if the murderer had been more understanding of her situation, perhaps she would not have ended up dead... he would not have used such violence against an innocent person."    I love the students for their optimism and hope about human potential.  I have to find ways to gently tell them the world they live in is not so straightforward, that innocence is no protection, and that understanding is a good first step, but it won't erase the contradictions of violence and love.

And here is Zuli:


p.s. Although today's post is about the cats, it's Scarlett's birthday. A good day for another walk.

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