dandelionfiles

Being a pet owner is supposed to be educational. I can’t open a book of essays without seeing at least one essay that goes something like “What I have learned from Bucky my pet Iguana (or how to effectively spit upon prey)”. These pet authors who describe their revelations through their relationships with other species appear to have received benefits often described by spiritualists or new age fanatics. I can’t dismiss all of these revelations as coming from personal foibles; most of these writers are at least logical enough to put together sentences in a logical and amusing fashion. I can’t even claim that people who receive revelations from pets are unlikeable: some of my favorite essayists have even created entire books about the subject. For example, Caroline Knapp wrote Pack of Two, a book that describes her personal growth after adopting a puppy.

All of this spiritual growth through interacting with creatures possessing four feet gives me pause. For years I have shared my domicile with cats as well as have fed and nursed strays, yet I have never once received any flashes of spiritual growth or anything involving enlightenment. Where are my spiritual experiences? Judging from existing literature, the symbiotic relationships I share with the house felines should have spurred enough personal growth that I should at least be able to prattle for several amusing paragraphs about lessons I have learned from and at least get a book deal. Yet strangely, the more closely I attune myself to my cats, the less I feel “enlightened” and one with the universe and the more I identify with a biologist who is using naturalistic study to comprehend alien behavior. While I sometimes admit to feeling awestruck, I do not feel “OM-struck”—no giant revelations have come my way except, “well, that’s interesting—how did they manage to survive and reproduce with habits like that?”. In other words, despite years of being owned by four demanding creatures and answering almost every beck or meow I am nowhere close to becoming the kind of person who can Actually Make Money Pandering Ambiguously “Meaningful” life advice based on my interspecies relationships. What’s the deal? Is it really that I am not introspective enough to take hard lessons from my four cats? Perhaps I have not been observant enough. The following is a diary kept during four instances of intense cat observation, attempting to find any meaningless platitudes that could possibly be marketable.

Observation Day One: Quetzalcoatl decides to hunt

Despite a multitude of ant traps and an overworked sweeper (me), our house is currently infested with ants. I mention the ants because they provide today’s observations. The dominant cat in our household, Quetzalcoatl, is busy practicing her hunting technique with what appears to be utter confidence.

Despite Quetzalcoatl’s advanced age, she is still the most effective hunter in the Dismukes clan (certainly I can’t catch birds as well with my teeth). She tracks the ant from about four or five feet away, then runs quickly behind the stereo speakers as if she doesn’t wish for the ant to realize its impending doom (for her size would never, ever give her away, would it?). The ant eventually passes very close to the speaker, oblivious to its horrible fate just like a slasher movie victim. When the ant is closest, Quetzalcoatl performs a behavior I’ve seen a thousand times before when she hunts, she shakes her butt and tail several times, crouches, and pounces effectively upon the poor ant. She then bats the ant between her front two paws several times (surely it’s dead by now, right?) before finally deigning to eat it. She decides its back legs aren’t to her liking, and therefore leaves them on the floor for me to clean up.

This hunting behavior has to provide today’s insight, although I am unsure how. How does hunting apply to my all too mundane frustrations living in the modern world? Would this ability look good on a resume? Are admired people in the community secretly good at grabbing fresh pheasant straight from the lawn?

Quetzalcoatl seems exhilarated by the whole hunting process. My reaction, on the other hand, is a feeling of nausea that comes with knowing what exactly is going to be put into a paper towel and thrown in the garbage. Is my lack of interest in hunting the reason that I suffered so many existential crises in my youth? Throughout her long life, I have never once seen Quetzalcoatl seem concerned that she wasn’t contributing enough to the world or feeling that modern life was meaningless. I read Nietzsche and Sartre to try and understand this; she only chewed on the respective covers. Comparing the two of us (the reader and the chewer), who appears to be more satisfied with life? Am I simply not engaging in enough action? I decide that the only way to comprehend the appeal of hunting is to emulate Quetzlcoatl technique by hiding, shaking my butt and pouncing on an ant to see if I catch it.

I go on my hands and the balls of my feet and curl my knees into my chest, trying my best to emulate the cat's four footed assuredness. I spend the next hour trying to find another ant to stalk. Unfortunately, after I finally spot another ant and begin to emulate her hunting technique of hiding behind a pole and shaking my butt. Oddly, I feel no euphoria or sudden revelation about life. Instead, I only notice that my back hurts. To make matters worse, during the time I have waited for the ant to crawl by my hiding place so that I can pounce upon it Quetzalcoatl has already spotted my prey, hidden herself, and has taken my quarry as her own. After looking at me haughtily, she happily trots away to find more prey, occasionally glancing my way in case I clue her in on more ants to kill and therefore save her the work of having to find ants herself.

Ambiguously meaningful spiritual lesson learned: hunting an ant sucks. Quetzlcoatl's technique doesn’t appear to do a thing for me. Shaking my butt only makes me feel like J. Lo. Besides, the hunt was unsuccessful—my quarry was stolen. I realize that when it comes to brass tacks, I am a crappy huntress. The only reason I have any dominance in this household is that I tower over these cats in size—if I was a mouse, I’d have been dead long ago.

Observation session two: The cat world of self defense.

If pets are such great spiritual leaders, why is it that they don’t get along with each other? In this household we have strange pet alliances—all cats fight for dominance with one another (Quetzlcoatl always wins), sometimes they form different allies to gang up on one another (Quetzlcoatl always wins), sometimes they hiss at each other at three a.m. on top of our bed to jockey for the “primo petting areas” as we’re trying to sleep (see previous parentheses). They rarely show displays of affection towards one another. Their body language usually involves a form of shadow boxing that is incomprehensible to anyone trying to promote peaceful relations. They sit on their haunches and bring back a set of claws extended in order to punch the opponent. However, just as they begin to extend their paws menacingly towards each other they suddenly change their minds. It’s as if a little lightbulb explodes in their minds and the horrible thought occurs to them that if they continue they may have to actually touch the other cat. Suddenly, one capitulates (usually the one who is not Quetzalcoatl) and runs away. It is as if they believe the other cat carries a modern plague virus.

What am I supposed to translate their horrible behavior towards one another when relating with other humans? My husband, Tony, suggests that cats are attempting a form of self defense, pointing out the fact that some karate techniques try to emulate feline behavior such as clawing your assailant. As for the refusal to actually engage in battle? “Maybe it’s a sportsmanship thing” he ponders.

Tony teaches various martial art techniques and has been trying to get me interested in the self defense classes for a long time. I suggest we try to emulate the cats as a method of inquiry through acting in a scenario. He is happy to try to assist me; he begins to change his behavior and manner to imitate a potential mugger. I argue that I cannot “get into character”, so he and leaves the room in order to allow me to prepare. I begin to emulate the behavior of the cats—I grab hairspray to poof up my hair so that I look bigger to my attacker and therefore more threatening. Tony re-enters the room, prepared. I begin to hiss, growl, and waggle my claws in a threatening manner while trying to stare at Tony as he comes into the room. To my shock, his eyes pop open as they sight my hair, and he falls to the floor guffawing. He doesn’t answer a thing about the effectiveness of the attack, but he appears to be enjoying himself.

Ambiguously meaningful spiritual lesson learned: Hissing, growling and waving fingernails around is a fine way to entertain your husband. Big hair is in a scary category of its own.

Observation session three: Cats have no problems with poor self-esteem

It has often been observed that the cats who occupy our house are extremely self-confident. Some guests have gone even further in their observations to suggest that the cats may be “extremely spoiled” or have remarked that they hope to be reincarnated as our next reincarnation’s cats. Of all of our extremely confident cats, Quetzlcoatl would have to be the most confident. If she was a human talk show hostess, she’d be Oprah. If she was a pop singer she’d be Madonna. Several people have even stopped referring to her as Quetzlcoatl but have instead instituted the nickname of “Queen” or “Your Supreme Royal Highness”. I, however, tend to be one of the most insecure human beings on the planet. Tests for my self esteem levels tend to go into the negative numbers. Where did she derive this incredible sense of assuredness?

Quetzlcoatl’s vets have often commented that she appears to have the highest self-regard of any being they treat. Vetenary assistants are quick to add they’d prefer if next time her self-esteem should be curbed. For example, may it be wiser if Quetzalcoatl was kept from challenging the six foot Mastiff cowering in the corner just because he tried to sniff her butt?

Suddenly, a possible platitude occurs to me: did the fact I named my cat after a god make her believe she was one? Could naming a being after something powerful change that being’s self-perception, even if the being involved had never heard of the ancient Toltemic civilization and could care less about it? I think about a possible title for a self-assurance building revelation—“Name yourself after a God and smote all your foes”.

I try to think about a God to name myself after so that I can hand test this technique. The more I think about renaming myself, however, the more uncomfortable I become. I mean, who really wants the kind of destructive power that accompanies a name like Kali? How would I react to people who looked at me strangely and asked, “Who do you think you are, God?”

I ask people for suggestions for Gods I could take after. Unfortunately, too many of my friends are well read on mythology and classics and argue that the only Gods they can stand are fictional. I halfheartedly try to call myself Athena, but I feel too stupid to be wise. Finally, a telemarketer calls, and I decide that being Kali isn't a bad idea after all. I decide it's time to smote someone! I will storms to destroy the telemarkerting center, but they keep calling back again. They are still unable to pronounce my husband's name. I feel ridiculously unimportant.
This particular technique may be limited to cats in general and may not be applicable to human beings. After all, the Ancient Egyptians always considered cats to be deities, didn’t they?

Ambiguously meaningful spiritual lesson learned: Naw.

Observation Session Four: Male feline marks the nice new couch I’ve been trying to protect from him.

Does cat pee ever come out of things?

Ambiguously meaningful spiritual lesson learned: Look, just forget it, Okay?

Conclusions:

After checking the observations, it appears in that while I have lived with felines for over fifteen years of my life, I haven’t learned a single thing from them. However, after reviewing cat behavior through the observation sheets, it is obvious ignorance is a good thing.

# posted by Lynx @ 10:17 AM