My old cat died last week. He was nearly 18 years old and is the last in a long line of cats going back nearly fifty years. First there was Mouse. Then Mimi and Trouble. And finally, Tad and Scudder. Scudder outlived his brother by five years. I miss him. Of course I do. But, thinking about him also makes me think about the relationship between human beings and pets.
First, let me get a bit of tired thinking out of the way, you know the thinking that puts people into either a “cat” or “dog” category. I can’t speak for anyone but myself, but I like dogs as much as I like cats. The difference is I would never keep a dog in an apartment which is where I live. And I had a wonderful dog growing up. He was an Irish Setter and his name was “Rusty”. I was five when he joined our family, and seventeen when he died. That was the first great loss of my life.
People like to debate which is better: a cat or a dog? But when we look at what each brings to the relationship with humans today I’m not sure there is that much of a difference. I understand that dogs have been domesticated much longer than cats, dogs likely first joining humans when we were still in our hunter gatherer stage, and cats later when we had settled down into farming. Both brought useful skills to people at the time. Dogs helping with hunting and gathering. Cats preying on vermin and birds that threatened agricultural crops. So that may account for the earliest connections but does little to explain the vestigial connections that thrive all over the world. Of course farmers still have dogs and cats to help with farming although as I recall from my childhood there is usually a distinction between a “house” cat and a “barn” cat, the latter presumably having to work harder for its board.
The debate over comparisons between cats and dogs usually involves an assertion that one is more intelligent than the other. I really don’t know what that means. It seems obvious that dogs have larger brains but, on the other hand, cats have brains perfectly evolved to meet their particular circumstances. Of course the measure of intelligence may get mixed up with how each interacts with humans, with dogs seemingly more affectionate and attentive. But that is hardly a measure of intelligence. In fact, it might be the opposite. People who have little experience with cats assume they are not very friendly. And they are wrong. Cats, as long as you understand they are cats and not tiny humans, can be very affectionate although it’s not as unconditional as that from a dog. To add to this, dogs have eyes that are seemingly more expressive, often coupled with a muscle wrinkle between them that causes humans to project all sorts of sympathetic interpretations. Cats, with the exception of opening and closing, express very little direct meaning from their eyes causing the uninitiated to think them cold and inscrutable when, in fact, they are not necessarily either.
The comparisons aside, I’m still puzzled by the relationship between them and humans now the most obvious utilitarian reasons for it have disappeared. What is it about a cat or a dog that humans find so attractive?
Some might argue these pets are surrogates for children but that only goes so far as “family” pets are shared with all members of a family.
And now I’m going to talk about what I know best: cats. There’s considerable truth to the idea that while a cat may be someone’s pet, that person is also the cat’s human. Especially if you raise a cat from kitten-hood, the bond is deep and strong. You delight in the cat’s playing and purring and it delights in your providing food, shelter and affection. And the affection is very important. Whats more, it’s reciprocated. Scudder would often nip me. Well, not actually a nip. He would just nuzzle into my arm and bring his teeth together. Some might say all he was doing was looking after himself, asking for affection for himself, but that would do him injustice. It was his way of saying he really really liked me, at least as far as a cat could formulate that thought. And after all, how different is that from the affection we receive from another animal or, for that matter, another human being? They say they really really like you and you reciprocate. So, I guess in a way, it’s all transactional. But it’s more than that. There is a bond of affection between the two. Oh, don’t expect a cat to express the complex emotions of a human but, in its way, it feels something warm and generous. When Mouse was an adult I saw him looking off in the distance and asked my partner: “What do you think’s going on in his head” to which he replied: “very little”. Undoubtedly true by human standards but, in the world of cats, the thoughts are as complex and sufficient as they need to be.
I actually hold the view that, for many of us, our lives are not complete without that kind of interaction with another living thing. Although I phrase it that way, I’m generally of the view that mammals are the best match with cats and dogs at the head of the line.
Or maybe philosophizing about the relationship between cats and humans is just too precious. Maybe what we feel for cats is as simple as the joy and laughter they give us, you know, play. Perhaps they remind us of ourselves a long time ago when the world still held mysteries, shocks and surprises. I have so many funny, joyous memories with my cats, although some did not seem particularly funny at the time. Sitting in front of my fireplace reading when a large and old Pre-Columbian sculpture came crashing and smashing to the ground and looking up to the ledge high above the fireplace to see Mimi’s bright blue eyes looking down at me in wonder, perhaps unsure what all the commotion was about. Or maybe she was just feigning innocence. Or during the dinner party I hosted for the Millenium when Trouble was sitting on the rather capacious stomach of one of my guests and, as I popped the cork on the champagne at midnight, launched himself in response across the room, leaving my guest bloodied and howling as the launch pad. Or the time I heard Tad wailing from the dining room only to find him impaled on the antlers of a bronze deer sculpture, he having tried to emulate his little brother whose nickname was Nadia Comaneci because of his agility jumping, climbing, scaling anywhere. Although it wasn’t so funny when little brother, Scudder, decided he would go for a walk outside the railing on my twenty ninth story patio only to slip, fall to the ground and survive. Although I should just note he never, ever went near the edge of any patio again. And then there’s all the other less memorable but equally joyful times when one of them would suddenly react as if some monster was chasing him and run frantically all over the house. Not to mention chasing tails or, my favourite, using the hallway outside my bedroom door to emulate a 737 on takeoff, usually at two or three in the morning.
So, as I said earlier, Scudder is the last in a long line and, yes, that does mean there won’t be another. At my age the prospect of leaving a cat behind seems wrong. But I will cherish all their memories for the rest of my life.
*with apologies to James Kirkwood
Just sayin
G
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